The Warren
by Xelan
Summary: I keep getting attacked by plot bunnies. When I'm not being actively mauled by plot bunnies, this is where they reside. Perhaps one day, a lucky bunny will be spunky enough to become a plot rabbit. Rating bumped up for ch. 11.
1. A Gryffindor Darkly

A Gryffindor Darkly by Xelan

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: The Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin… Okay, I'll buy that, but only if he acts like it sometimes. This is what happens when you make Dumbles' desire to redeem evil gits work for the Hero instead of the other way around.

XXXXXX

"And what do you have to say for yourself, Mister Potter?" Albus queried in his faux grandfatherly way. He expected an angry outburst involving injustice and darkness... He was only half right.

"Sir, I think I'm going dark."

"..."

"W-what? Why whatever would make you think that, my boy?"

"Well, sir. I've been beaten and abused, malnourished, mistreated, tortured, ridiculed, and hounded by enemies, reputed friends, and people claiming to be my best friend. I have no social life, no real friends except for Hermione, and every person aside from her that has loved me has been taken from me. Exactly why wouldn't I be turning dark?"

Dumbledore stood frozen for a moment, digesting what had been summarily dropped in front of him. _Surely it wasn't that bad_. "Beaten, Mister Potter... who would do such a thing?"

He rolled his eyes. "The Durselys." He pulled up both sleeves to show multiple scars. He pointed out which ones were non-school related. "My back is much worse. They've been doing it for years up until I got my Hogwarts Letter."

"You must be exaggerating, my boy. No magical family would ever do such a thing. There must be some other explanation for those horrendous and numerous scars." He was wearing his Made-Up-My-Mind Face.

"You do realize that you left me with my Muggle relatives, right? As in, non-magical... they aren't a magical family and in point of fact, they literally despise magic and have repeatedly tried to beat my magic out of me."

"Really?" he croaked. This was bringing back memories from his own childhood. "That sounds rather painful."

"Oh, trust me. It was very, very painful. I've been tied to a banister and whipped*, worked over with a cricket bat*, had bones broken with a fireplace poker*, and was nearly blinded once when my uncle broke a wooden post across my face."

"Hmm... I will admit, there is a strong correlation between unhappy childhoods and turning dark, but you come from a very light aligned family. Also, you have the wonderful learning environment that is Hogwarts and the highly professional staff and faculty of Hogwarts and all of your numerous friends here to offset any such leanings."

"You do realize that I was one and half years old when my parents were killed in front of me and that I have no clear memories of them except of when my mother died?

"Blood is thicker than water, dear boy."

"Perhaps, but how about the fact that since I've been here I've nearly been killed well over a dozen times?"

"Preposterous. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world while I am Headmaster. That you have ever been in life threatening danger is patently impossible."

Harry raised a hand and started listing events and ticking fingers. "One, nearly killed by a troll; two, nearly killed by a three headed dog and various other traps; three, nearly killed by a Voldemort possessed teacher two times; four, nearly killed by acromantulas; five, nearly killed by Lockhart; six, nearly killed by a Basilisk; seven, nearly killed by Lucius Malfoy; eight, nearly killed by dementors; nine, nearly killed by a werewolf; ten, nearly killed by different deranged death eater. Now bear in mind that this list is only the highlights and even then only covers through Third Year; I've already run out of fingers to count higher."

Dumbledore looked around the staff table and observed chagrined expressions and slowly nodding heads. _Can it be true?_ he wondered again. He took several long looks around the house tables. Lots of nodding heads there as well. _Damnation__,_he inwardly cursed.

"Does that mean that you believe me about how unsafe Hogwarts has been for me?"

"For the sake of argument, let's say that I believe you. That still leaves my other points that should keep you from turning dark."

"You have a ghost teaching history, badly I might add; A death eater teaching potions, who happens to bully me at every turn, was responsible for my parents deaths, and hasn't produced a single NEWT level potions student during his entire tenure; also not a single DADA professor has successfully returned for a second year, and most of them have tried to kill me at one point or another."

Dumbledore looked again to the staff table - their heads were hung with shame and McGonagall was weeping. Filius was misty-eyed, Pomona was blowing her nose loudly, Hagrid was bawling his eyes out, Pomfrey worried her napkin, and Vector and Hooch were sad. Oh, and Snape's body twitched and spasmed where it lay on the floor. His lips instinctively tried to scowl, but inevitably failed due to the massive trauma.

"Well then, Harry. What would you have me do?"

"First, I'd like to have my prefectship, that you unjustly gave to Ron, and I would like Delores Umbridge made into my minion/slave. Also, as a Dark Lord in training, I think I should have a band of loyal followers and be able to get away with murder."

Dumbledore nodded his head. When put in just that way, it certainly made sense. He summoned the badge from young Mr. Weasley and curtly informed him that his trial period had ended in failure and he was returning the badge to its rightful owner.

Harry pinned it on his robes with great glee.

Dumbledore turned to Delores Umbridge who was still bound, gagged, magically silenced, and had summoned toads hopping happily over her squirming, fly-covered body; she wriggled in protest. "In a few moments, I shall head off to the Ministry to remove Minister Fudge, regain my political power and standing and appoint another puppet minister. Once I have finished, you shall be demoted from your Inquisitor post and will resume your post as DADA Professor and as Mister Potter's minion/slave. We must try to do all that we can to return Mister Potter back to the light.

Draco, who had been duct taped to the ceiling finally managed to rip the tape off of his mouth (along with his peach fuzz and eyebrows) shouted angrily, "Why hasn't he been punished. He assaulted a prefect! When my-", but Dumbledore silenced him before he could continue.

"You, Mr. Malfoy, will be part of Mister Potter's inner circle of loyal followers. Obviously, as Mister Potter is an aspiring dark lord, he must have followers. Once I return, if you have not cut yourself down, I will do so and then perform the appropriate mental modifications so that you can fulfill your roll in the tradition of your subservient family."

"Why does Harry get to do all this and I lose my badge?" Ron groused.

"Because, despite my best efforts, Mister Potter has started to go dark. Once started down that path, it is nearly impossible to turn back unless you become fully dark. Once fully established, then and only then is it possible to repent and return to the light. Naturally, due to my failure to notice his descent into darkness, I must hurry him along so he can repent and be saved."

Around the room, various people, mostly from pure-blood families, began nodding their heads in approval. A cheer went up. "POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!" filled the hall.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Shall we leave dinner a bit early and start on our homework so we can get to our prefect rounds? I discovered a broom closet that went missing in the 1970's that is just begging to be explored."

Hermione looked at her boyfriend... for the first time in her life she was too stunned to even lecture him. "How - what - why?" she started but couldn't continue.

"I really got tired of Mister Bottom-less Pit always playing up that he was a prefect and got to spend time with my girl instead of me. This time, I did something about it." He took her hand in his. She did not resist and actually smiled.

Ron was outraged. "Your girl? Herms! You slapped me for less during rounds. Tell 'im what you told me. Tell him that you're one 'a those independent women and that you can't be owned or treated like a possession. Tell him that you two are at best friends and or maybe like brother and sister. Tell him!"

She slapped the silly ponce so hard he fell into his pudding. "Be quiet! It is none of your concern to whom I grant liberties. Furthermore, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, NEVER . SHORTEN . MY NAME! How many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick head?"

Harry looked at Hermione. "What?" She noticed his eyes flicking down toward the stunned and messy redhead. "Oh that. Well, I warned him, and besides, if I'm going with a dark lord in training, then I thought I should act the part." She paused a moment, then pulled out her wand and pointed it at Ron. "Incontinento," she cast.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Incontinence curse."

Harry smiled at his girlfriend and together, hand in hand, they left the Great Hall.


	2. A Fourth Champion

Albus raced down the hallway. It wouldn't do for him not to be there for the announcing of the Triwizard Champions. Afterall, he was largely responsible for the resurrection of the ancient and deadly tournament in modern times.

*Crack*

"Damnit" He ground out through clenched teeth. He grabbed his throbbing foot and bounced up and down in place several times. Fortunately, no one could see him. Being disillusioned while running at a breakneck pace was certainly useful in getting to somewhere fast, but it did not allow for keeping track of one's long legs. He had stubbed his toe painfully on one of the uneven stones that made up the long hallway. O_h, the things I do to maintain my reputation..._

Once again, Albus wondered whether it would really be all that dangerous for people to know that he hurried from time to time, that sometimes running left him out of breath, or that even he was occasionally late. Then he remembered the last time he was lax with himself - Voldemort was unleashed upon the world. He resumed his run. He was already late, he knew, but he was sure McGonalgal would be more than adequate... at least he HOPED she'd be more than adequate as least until he got there.

Rolling his ancient and tired eyes, Albus, released his foot and resumed his running.

XXXXXX

As he ghosted around the room, he noticed the throng was in an uproar, no doubt due to the inexplicable fourth Champion that the Goblet had chosen. He smiled as he eased up to the doorway behind that very same Goblet; briefly he wondered if any of the students would be loyal enough to Harry to actually stay with him through this year's challenge. The only one he was certain that wouldn't burn bridges was the Weasley chit. She was so head over heels for the boy that Albus was sure that she would, at the very least, hold her tongue.

Dropping the disillusionment, he strode confidently into the room, an equanimous air about him. He prepared himself to act shocked over the discovery of his underage charge being chosen for a dangerous, life-threatening tournament against people several years his senior, which also happened to be a wonderful way to further distance him from his peers, break his spirit, and teach him the skills he would need to survive for a little while longer. _Such genius could only have come from one such as I._ He gloated to himself.

"Minerva, forgive me for the delay. Alastor was feeling unwell. How did the Champion selection go?"

Cold eyes all around the room swivelled to focus on the Hogwarts Headmaster. Karkaroff and Madame Maxine appeared even more upset than he had anticipated. _My plan goes even BETTER than I envisioned. When Crough gets out of the Hospital wing, I shall have to buy him some firewhiskey. Even under truth serum, I shall be held blameless for this._

"Actually, Headmaster, the Champion selection had some... irregularities. "

Minerva was colder to him than usual. Albus resolved to tweak her mental conditioning later. After all, it would not do for his deputy to be disrectful to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"What sort of Irregularities, Minerva?"

Madame Maxine chimed in. "Irregulare'ities! 'Zis is an outrage! A fourth champion is unheard of!"

"I agree, Albus! How could you let this happen?" demanded Karkaroff.

Dumbledore looked benignly clueless. "I'm sure we can work everything out to everyone's satisfcation. Minerva, what is this about a fourth Champion?"

"Exactly as it sounds Headmaster." She pointed to Mr. Diggory, Mr. Krum, and Miss Delacour. "These three were selected by the Goblet as one would expect, but then a fourth name came out of the Goblet. I immediately reconvened a meeting with the other officials in this room. Headmaster Karkaroff and Headmistress Maxime have both threatened to withdraw if this isn't cleared up."

Albus pretended to look shocked. He glanced at the other heads of their respective schools. They nodded firmly to show their agreement.

Albus prevented himself from smiling, but only with exceptional effort on his part. "And has the fourth Champion been informed, Minerva?" Curiously, Minerva McGonagall seemed to hesitate, as if deliberating over something. Albus assumed it was due to the fact that she had always had a soft spot for young mister Potter, but Albus had put a stop to the possibility of her interfering shortly after she had gotten him his first broom. _How else would boy learn to be independent and distrustful of authority if he had professors he could actually rely on. _Dumbledore mused.

"No... he has not been informed yet, Albus."

"This is quite serious. The Goblet is a powerful magical artifact and once it has chosen there is no alternative but for the Champions to compete. If one does not, he will certainly lose his magic and perhaps his very life. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Crouch?"

"That is so, Headmaster Dumbledore. All chosen by the Goblet _must_ compete." Crouch agreed while staring dully ahead.

_Imperiused up the wazoo,_ thought Dumbledore. The old greybeard twitched his lips for a moment. "Very well, have him come here and I shall inform him of what has happened and hopefully he will not die from the Tournament."

Normally, all people jump quickly to do whatever Albus Dumbledore decrees, but this time, all stood still, eyes darting back and forth in confusion.

"What seems to be the source of the confusion? Bring Ha-ahem-the student here. Surely that isn't a difficult concept?"

"Well, that's the problem, Albus," explained Sirius Black. "It isn't a student who was chosen as the fourth Champion. It was you..."

XXXXXX

**-Meanwhile, in the Great Hall-**

Harry sat with his arm comfortably around Hermione's waist. They were two beacons of calm in the cacophony that was the Great Hall. No one noticed, but each had a small, thin, piece of flesh colored material pressed to an ear. They were listening intently to Harry's mirror. As agreed, Sirius had left his own mirror active but hidden so that the two could listen in on the proceedings.

XXXXXX

**-The Weighing of the Wands-**

"Ah, Albus. I'd heard you would be competing. Terrible luck, that. Let us see.  
>One of mine, I remember it well." Olivander gently plucked the wand from Albus'<br>hand and examined it closely.

"It should be in excellent condition," Albus said with a smile. "

"I see..." Olivander commented while closing one eye and bringing the tip of the wand  
>so close that one might worry about residual spell fire. "-and you've done<br>wondrous things with a wand these past 57 -no- 59 years."

"Indubitably." offered Dumbledore, with no little forced cheer.

"But not with this wand." he said simply. As Dumbledore had handed over his  
>original wand (now his backup), his current wand was tucked away out of sight,<br>and he had not expected this reaction - he was helpless with what came next.

"Accio Albus' other wand", murmured the aged Wand maker.

Shortly, another wand flew from Albus' sleeve and dropped into Olivander's  
>waiting hand. "I thought so. No evidence that the wand you handed me had been<br>used for several decades - more than half a century since it has seen regular use.  
>You should know better than to try to hand over any but your everyday wand at an<br>official judging." He looked down at the new wand. "Not one of mine... but it  
>appears to be... -YIPE!-"<p>

Albus' eyes widened.

Olivander dashed away. "Oh Mr. Black! I must speak with you." And with that,  
>both Olivander and Sirius Black excused themselves to the hallway.<p>

Several moments passed and the two re-entered the room.

Sirius spoke. "After some deliberation, it has been officially decided that  
>Champions shall have only one wand for use in the competition. Here you go<br>Champion Dumbledore." He handed back Dumbledore's spare.

"I think I would prefer my other wand as the primary." A hint of desperation in  
>his voice.<p>

Sirius looked at the old man shrewdly. Leaning close enough to whisper,  
>"According to Olivander, that wand can summon un-summonable items and stun even<br>very large magically resistant creatures un-aided. It would be an unfair  
>advantage... don't you agree? I can offer a receipt from the Ministry, but unless<br>circumstances change, you won't be seeing that wand again for the rest of the  
>term."<p>

"What circumstances?" He asked. His face was tight with concern.

"Why, when you're no longer a Champion."

"But it is a binding magical contract. I haven't found a way out of the  
>tournament yet."<p>

"Not my problem, Albus. Good day."

Albus wished Sirius Black was still a student... if he was, then Argus would  
>have had cleaning help for the rest of the year.<p> 


	3. A Gryffindor Darkly  Prologue

A Gryffindor Darkly - Prologue

For any readers in the U.S., my British friends let me know that a Heath Robinson machine is basically equivalent to a Rube Goldberg machine. Admittedly, I fear that most of my fellow Americans still won't know what I'm talking about unless they use some google-fu.

XXXXXX

The door to the Room of Requirement slipped silently open and soft footsteps made their way toward the young man seated at a table with a quill in his hand. She slipped her arms around his neck and leaned over his shoulder to glance at the many pieces of parchment he seemed to be sketching on. "Is that a Heath Robinson machine you're working on?"

"Hermione, what did you just say?"

"I asked if you were designing a Heath Robinson machine."

Harry blinked a few times and then asked, "What's a Heath Robinson machine?"

_He doesn't know? _She marveled. _Then what was that he was sketching out?_

"If you can't explain it, then don't worry about it. I'll check the Library in the morning."

"No, no. There's no need for that. I was just surprised, that's all. A Heath Robinson machine is any complex machine that accomplishes something very simple. They started as humorous drawings of comical ways to accomplish everyday tasks, but in recent times, people have actually begun try to make working versions. Daddy is an avid fan and likes to tinker about with a local club. They travel about putting their creations to the test in competition with other groups. He's taken me to a few of their meetings, but stopped after I tried making one at home by myself." She blushed a little at this admission.

Harry's eyes sparkled. "You mean you've made one of these Heath Robinson machines before?"

Hermione scowled prettily and blew a lock of hair away from her face. "Not one that worked. Stupid, sub-standard, rubber bands," she grumbled.

"I take it that means that the one you made 'almost' worked."

"_Should_, Harry. It _should_ have worked. At six years old I didn't take into account that old rubber bands are more likely to snap under sustained tension."

"Could you design and build one now?"

"Well... I suppose so. With magic I would think it would be even easier."

"Excellent."

"Why?"

"I'm working on, well, I suppose you could say it's an experiment." He showed her his rough sketches. "I have some half formed ideas if you want to have a look them."

"Sure." She smiled at her boyfriend as she took the proffered parchment – she loved when he used his intelligence.

Studying the rather crude drawings more closely for several moments before turning to face him, "Harry, you do realize this is more a Wile E. Coyote Plan To Catch The Road Runner than a Heath Robinson machine, don't you?"

"Umm... Road Runner?"

"Right... no cartoons growing up. I remember now." She sighed. "Well, I suppose I can conjure something like duct tape or perhaps something a little bit stronger. At home, Daddy uses something similar called Gorilla Tape. He says that stuff would tear the stripes off of a zebra if given the chance.

"What do you think about the artificial lightning spell coupled with the broken glass and vinegar?"

"It all looks promising, but I don't see how you're going to get it to hit your target with the lightning spell. The Great Hall is filled with metal and something is bound to act like a lightning rod and redirect it."

"Ah, but that's why I'm using the blocks of congealed water. Once the spell breaks, they should drench whomever they land on."

"Duct taped to the wall, severe electrical burns, blunt force trauma, a magically reinforced chain connected to the castle gate system designed to pull a body zipping all through the castle at breakneck speed, and summoned toads to top it off... My, my, my I think I may actually feel sorry for the dummies you're going to test your experiment on." Hermione opined; a picture of complete innocence.

"Dummies. Right..." Harry coughed lightly.

"HARRY!"

"I promise. No dummy that doesn't deserve it will be used."

"Promise me you'll be careful and not get into trouble."

"If everything goes according to plan, then there shouldn't be any problem. Harry smiled his most charming smile, the one he only used for her when they were alone. "You are so brilliant, I could kiss you!"

"Is there any reason not to kiss me?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, not really."

"Then by all means, do get on with it." She grinned as he closed the distance.

*Knock*Knock*knock*

Harry opened the door.

"Is Herms in there? Some midget First Year is complaining about something."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't need Hermione, you're a prefect too, Ron. Why don't you take care of it?"

He smiled blithely. "Too busy, 'a course. Right in the middle of an absolutely ripper chess match with Seamus. If I leave it for too long, then I forfeit. 'Sides, I'm sure Herms doesn't mind. She likes helping midgets."

Behind the door, Harry could just barely see his girlfriend's face out of the corner of his eye. She looked furious. Her normally pretty face was covered in a scowl and her eye twitched slightly every time Ron Weasley shortened her name. Harry knew that if he didn't get rid of the red headed moron quickly then Hermione's patience would very shortly run out and she might finally give into the desire to try out her new canary spell.

"Well, is Herms in there or isn't she?" he demanded.

"I haven't seen Herms around here. Maybe check the Library or something. Bye now!" He took a half step back and swiftly closed the door. He had shortened Hermione Jane Granger's given name... no good could come of this, he was certain. Taking a fortifying deep breath, he turned to his right, fully expecting a verbal tongue lashing, a magical punishment, or both.

Instead, he got a passionate kiss. Hermione was obviously pleased with his actions on her behalf. He made a mental note to include Ron in his payback plans for the mental anguish he had caused Hermione.

"You are a wonderful man," she breathed after breaking the kiss.

"I have a wonderful woman, so it's only natural, but there is one thing I just don't understand."

"Why you don't get a bollocking for shortening my name?"

"Uh huh..."

"Simple. You're my boyfriend and he-" she kissed him again, "-is not."

"So I can use a nickname for you?"

"Naturally, I prefer my own name to anything else, but with the right person, in other words, only with you, I don't mind so much."

"How about 'Mione?"

Visibly mulling over the term of endearment, she finally declared, "It isn't awful, but anyone who is NOT Harry James Potter gets a bowel loosening hex for using it or any other nickname. I won't stand for anyone else doing it aside from you."


	4. You're A Better Girl!

Special thanks to Joel F. who provided the Goblet of Fire scene that I used as the basis for my own story. Ralph S. who gave me advice and support. Illiad over at Userfriendly from whom I got the 'Surrounded' joke.

A/N: Just to be clear. There are some parts that are VERY similar to what was written in GoF. Not word for word, but plot-wise very similar. Jo wrote GoF and this is my take in a similar manner.

"Ron, I need you to take me to the ball as your partner."

"What? No!" his face aghast. It was his sister asking him, after all.

"All those witches parading themselves in front of Harry... I can't not be there, Ron. I mean, can you imagine them dressed to the nines? There's no way Harry will be able to resist them." Her face was deadly serious.

Unfortunately, she didn't have her brother's full attention. Ron's eyes had glazed slightly as her description had led him to begin contemplating the beautiful Fleur Delacour.

Ginny's imagination was also similarly focused. "I mean, gorgeous periwinkle blue ball gown-" _that should have been mine_, "-primped and powdered-" _with a half dozen bottles of Sleak__-__easy_, "-being held tight-" _that SHOULD BE ME,_ "-gazing into his dreamy, toad green eyes-" _MINE!_ "-while they whisper sweet nothings into each others' ears." Ginny blushed.

Ron was still out of it.

"Ron!"

"What!" her blurted. The daydream had just started getting good.

"Well, will you take me to the Yule Ball or won't you?"

"What are you, soft in the head? Of course I won't. There are loads of good-looking girls I could take." Images of Fleur Delacour and that blond in their year with the fantastic baps pranced throughout his mind. "Why on earth would I want to take my little sister?"

"Ron. Think! I'm only a Third Year. I can't go unless one of the upper years invites me. And for your information, I _am_ a good-looking girl!"

"You're my little sister! Even if you were good-looking, and I'm not saying you are, you don't count!"

Ginny began a slow burn. "For your information, _Ronnie-kins_, Neville Longbottom already asked me."

Ron scoffed at the thought of pudgy little Neville working up the courage to ask Ginny out. So skeptical was he that he did not even bother getting over-protective. "Well then why are you wasting my time if you already got asked by little Nevy-wevy?" He hated being called Ronnie-kins when his _older_ brothers did it, he was not going to let it pass from his _younger_ sister – especially since she was asking him for a favor when she did it.

This seemed to short-circuit Ginny famous temper and her expression softened. "I need to attend the ball so I can keep Harry away from all the harlots…" Her eyes flicked up and she glared at him. "If you repeat what I'm about to say to ANYONE, I will hit you with so many Bat Bogey hexes that you'll think you're surrounded.

Sneering lightly and rolling his eyes, he made a continue motion with his hand.

Breathing deeply then letting out a large sigh, she admitted, "I think Neville may fancy me. Eventually Harry and I will be together and so I don't want to encourage him. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to him."

"What about me, then? Don't I have feelings?" blustered Ron.

_Sometimes I wonder…_ mused Ginny. "I don't see girls lining up to date you, Ron. I figure at least if you take me, then you'll have someone to dance with. I'll even promise I won't complain when you step all over my feet." She smirked. "That's a real plus, unless you've miraculously learned how to dance since you had to escort Aunt Muriel over the summer?"

Ron's ears turned a bright red. He'd been trying to suppress that memory for months and had largely succeeded until she had reminded him just now. Anew the horror had returned in full force. His teeth grit together and the sneer on his lip returned. He stood, turned abruptly on his heel and strode out. "Bugger off. I'll find someone good-looking to partner with even if it kills me."

XXXXXX

Hermione leaned back against Harry; his left arm nestled comfortably against her left side and conveniently covered by her robes. Idly, his fingers ran back and forth along the top of her skirt, every so often skimming the top of her sensitive skin.

By no coincidence at all, every so often Hermione had to suck in her breath and marvel at the casual intimacy. She was having a lovely day. She had decided a few days before to try out her new ball gown.

She had shown it to exactly two people: Harry and to Ginny. Hermione had always planned to show it to Harry, but showing it to Ginny had been a last minute decision. She wanted something to de-frizz her hair so she would look nice for Harry, and so she had turned to Ginny for magical beauty product advice. Of course Ginny had insisted on seeing the dress before she would help. After a few minutes of being at a loss for word, Ginny had hugged her very tightly, mumbled something about a product called Sleak-easy and then left in a rush.

Harry had moved his hand to rest comfortably against her stomach, still covered by her robes.

She absolutely loved how warm his hands were. She snuggled back into him and allowed a satisfied grin to form on her face. Harry had reacted well just seeing the dress and since Ginny reacted so strongly, she expected quite a reaction on the night of the ball after she had styled her hair and made herself up properly. She couldn't wait…

XXXXXX

Back from evening meal, Ginny stepped over the portrait entrance into the common room. Quickly spotting the Golden Trio, she began walking toward them. "Why weren't you three at dinner?"

"Because — oh enough with the laughter, you _children_ — because Ron has just succeeded in getting rejected by both of the girls he asked to the ball!" Hermione informed her. "We're trying to _help_, right Harry?"

The two males of the Trio suddenly found THAT a lot less funny; Ron because he was embarrassed and Harry because he recognized that tone.

"Thanks loads, Hermione." Ron whined theatrically.

"All the good-looking ones taken, brother dear?" asked Ginny. The smirk was just barely visible on her face, but if you listened, you could hear the gloating smiles.

"A certain underclassman that you described as 'plain' must be beginning to look quite fetching to you at this late hour, I should think." There was a bit more acerbity in Hermione's voice than she had intended; Ron just naturally grated at her like that.

"Well, there has to still be someone shallow and vapid enough to agree to accompany you." Offered Ginny in a 'not my problem anymore' sort of tone. He'd had his chance and that broom had flown.

But Ron couldn't seem to take his eyes from Ginny. His eyes were wide, as though suddenly truly seeing her for the first time in his young life. The stare was a little unnerving.

"Ginny… Neville might have been onto something. You… you're a girl…"

"Congratulations. Do you want a trophy?" she almost spat, but deciding spitting was unladylike, and refrained, but only just.

"This is brilliant! If I can't go with my first or second choices, then I'll just take you!" He was really warming up to the idea. He ignored the fact that Ginny had broached this very same idea a couple of days before and at the time he had ridiculed her and then turned her down flat.

"No, I won't!" declared Ginny. If her brother thought she'd take pity on him after the way he'd treated her than he had another thing coming to him.

"Oh come off it, Ginny" Ron wheedled. He was getting bored with the discussion topic already, "I need a partner and anyone below fourth year isn't even invited unless one of the upper years asks you. In any case, just imagine our family's loss of face if I'm forced to show up without a partner, I mean, I swear it seems like everyone else has already paired off . . ."

Remembering the ridiculous name draw Ginny had organized to try and set him up with someone; Harry glanced at Hermione and found himself smiling for no particular reason.

Hermione noticed the glance and the accompanying smile. She turned to look at him and smiled her special smile, one for his eyes only.

Harry's smile increased in size.

"I already said I won't be going with you," repeated Ron's kid sister, now flushing in embarrassment and annoyance, "In case you haven't figured out the reason, it's because I've already agreed to attend with someone else."

"Oh, yes you will!" said Ron. "You're just using the same excuse you used to get rid of Neville! Well, it won't work on me. I'll get Mum involved if I have to."

"You're accusing me of lying? That's low, even for you. Oh and then bringing Mum into this, you-you, pathetic flobberworm excuse for a man." Ground out Ginny, and then her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just because it's taken you my entire lifetime to notice, Ron, does not mean that nobody else has realized I'm a girl!" Ginny spent a few precious seconds glancing toward Harry, but nothing came of it. He was staring at Hermione and seemed to have a goofy grin on his face.

Ron didn't notice Harry's inattention, but continue to stare at Ginny. Finally, he grinned again.

"Okay, alright, I get it. You're a girl," he said. "I've said it, do you need it in writing or will that do?" he made a mock bow and extended an arm. "Will you hurry up and just agree to come with me_ already_?" Despite the inappropriateness, he still let the sarcasm slip through.

"I've already TOLD you! Bloody Hell, I've even told you TWICE!" Ginny said very angrily. "I AM GOING TO THE BALL WITH SOMEONE ELSE! _Why_ does that not seem to register with you?" She glanced at Harry and Hermione, their attention back on the Weaslys. "I mean, you two heard me, right?"

Both Harry and Hermione nodded.

Throwing her hands up in disgust, Ginny stormed off toward the girls' dormitories.

"She's lying," said Ron casually as he watched her stomp away. "'Just got to be. I mean, can you imagine someone wanting to take her to ball for real?"

Harry and Hermione just shook their heads in disbelief – not at Ginny but at Ron.

_For such a petite girl, she really could make a lot of noise on the castle's stone floor_, Hermione mused.

Harry was of similar thoughts. _Hate to be on the other end of that shoe if she was mad at me…_

"No, she's not," said Hermione in a stage whisper. It was easily loud enough for Harry to hear, but she'd planned for it to be loud enough for Ron to hear as well. Plausible deniability was important. The Marauder's had stressed that time and time again.

"Then who IS she going with? If you know, you have to tell me!" demanded Ron.

"I'm not telling you, it's really none of your concern," answered Hermione. Her voice sounded chill.

"Riiight," muttered Ron. This entire situation was putting him off his dinner… though come to think of it, he hadn't actually eaten supper yet. With a sigh at the annoyances in life that generally involved a bratty sister, he turned to Harry. "This is getting stupid. Hey Harry, how about you go with Ginny, and then Hermione and I can just —"

"He can't," said Hermione, and she began to blush prettily. "I'm going with Harry. He asked me a bit ago before the two of you mended fences. Remembering the excuse they had come up with in the, in his opinion, likely or, and in her opinion, unlikely, event that she got asked by someone else, and I thought . . . well . . . even though I'm entitled to go, I would have decided not to if I didn't have an escort." She looked extremely pleased. "I think we should go and have dinner," she said, and then she stood up and walked off to the portrait hole. It was wrong, she knew, but she found she liked to at least have the illusion of choice, even if she would always choose Harry.

Ron goggled at Harry as he called out to his departing future dance partner. "I'll just be a few more minutes!"

"What's gotten into you?" he demanded. "And when did you decide to take Hermione? This is the first I've heard of it."

Harry paid Ron little attention. Something far more important had caught his attention, and it was for that reason that he wasn't currently enjoying Hermione's company. He had seen Parvati and Lavender entering the common room from the portrait hole. He was looking forward to the ball now, but if Ron couldn't go, well a good friend doesn't just leave a friend hung out to dry. The time had come for some drastic action, and since Ron appeared to be cleaning his ears out with his wand, it looked like it fell to him. *Sigh* A hero's work is never done. He cringed. He hated that saying and then and there resolved to never make use of it again.

"Wait here," he said to Ron, and he swiftly made his way to Parvati. Utterly cool and completely lacking in self-consciousness (because he already had a date, thank you very much) he asked, "Parvati? Are you going to the ball with anyone?"

Parvati turned to her best friend in all of Hogwarts and immediately fell prey to a fit of the giggles. Harry patiently waited for them to subside, and he was even gentlemanly enough not to roll his eyes. For luck he crossed his fingers in his robe pockets. This was arduous, but he didn't want his long time friend to miss out on the ball.

"Not at the moment. Why, Granger cancel on you?" Her eyes were alight with interest.

"No, it's nothing like that. You see, a certain long time friend needs my help - anyway I was wondering if you would be willing to go to the ball with Ron?"

Parvati raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to give Ron an astonished look.

Deliberating it over in her head and then glancing at Lavender for corroboration she finally said, "Yes, all right then." As soon as she finished saying those words, she began blushing furiously.

"Thanks," said Harry, in relief. A thought occurred to him. "Lavender, could you go with Neville?"

"Sorry, Harry. She's already promised to go with Seamus," volunteered Parvati, and the pair of them giggled harder than ever.

Harry sighed. "Can't you think of anyone who'd go with Neville?" he said, lowering his voice so that the entire room wouldn't hear.

"What about Ginny Weasley?" suggested Parvati.

"She said she's going with someone else. "

Parvati looked astonished. She was, after all, only a third year.

"Ooooh — do tell?" she asked. Gossip was always fun, except if it was about you and even then, sometimes.

Harry shrugged. "She never said," he shrugged. "So, any ideas of a partner for Neville?"

"Well…" Parvati began slowly, "I suppose I could try to convince my sister.. .Padma, you know . . . looks just like me but sits at the Ravenclaw table. I can ask her if you want me to."

"Oh, definitely. If you would, then that would be great," admitted Harry. "You will let me know just as soon as you find out, won't you?"

Parvati and Lavender both started giggling and Harry took that to be a yes.

As he hurried back over to tell Ron his good fortune before heading off to catch up with Hermione, he had the distinct feeling that this ball was going to end up a lot more trouble than it was worth. Granted, seeing Hermione in that dress would be worth a great deal, but everyone else was really troublesome. He hoped very much that Padma Patil liked Gryffindor men on the shy side.


	5. Gosh!

A/N: A bit ago, a reviewer expressed disbelief that Ron Weasley, a pureblooded wizard, could possibly know to use the term 'gosh' due to it being Muggle in origin. Honestly, I thought it was a little funny; especially if you consider Arthur Weasley's job and hobbies and that Harry and Hermione are both Muggle raised, it didn't seem too far of a stretch that Ron might have picked something up by osmosis. Taking it a step further, I wrote this…

XXXXXXXX

*Pop*

Arthur Weasley, head of the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and father of seven, appeared on his front doorstep. The door was unlocked and he stepped through the doorway to exclaim to his family, "Two raids! Two! Perkins and I must have had to modify the memories of a dozen Muggles!" He pulled out a large polka dot handkerchief and began blotting his face vigorously.

"Mundungus again, Dear?" came Molly's voice from the kitchen. She was standing by the stove making sure the pudding was coming along all right.

"Mundungus and Ravenscroft, though I can only prove Ravenscroft's involvement. One of these days, I'll catch Fletcher in the act, mark my words!"

"'A course you will, Dad," Ron idly commented from his chess game with himself. His attention was focused almost solely on his game and he didn't want to stretch his resources too thin. THIS TIME he was determined to win. Somehow, and I'm not exactly sure how, but Ron Weasley always seemed to lose whenever he played against himself. Normally when playing against oneself, you win as often as you lose, but in Ron's case he seemed to lose twice as much. Odd, that.

"Oh, there you are Ronnie! I learned the most wonderful new Muggle word when Perkins and I followed Mundungus into a Muggle Kinema (or Cinema for you Muggles out there). It was dark and there was this great big talking dog!"

"Yeah, that's great Dad, but can you just hurry up and tell me this new word? I'm kinda trying to play a match here and I really think I have a chance this time."

"All right, the word is 'gawrsh'. And from what I can tell, it's used to express surprise, amazement, or pleasure."

"Gawrsh, huh? Sounds kinda silly." He smiled as he pictured Marvin the Mad Muggle using the term, "I'll have to remember that one."

%%%%%%

-Years Later-

"For the 27th time, Ron, it's pronounced 'gosh' and not 'gawrsh'. You sound like a complete moron when you say it wrong."

"Shows what you know, little Miss Know-it-all," he sneered. "I owled my Dad and he agrees with me, he even remembers where he heard it for the first time."

Hermione, who was sitting on Harry's right while Ron sat to his left, just rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, fine. Keep sounding like a moron if that's what you want. Don't come crying to me if people who hear you think you're mentally challenged... well, at least not due to you saying 'gosh' wrong." Hermione quietly went back to working on her essay and playing footsie with Harry.

Harry, who had never seen a cartoon in his life, agreed with Hermione and thanked the stars above that his girlfriend could multitask and that his girlfriend was even kinkier than her hair.

Ron pushed his untouched parchment back and slid out the tiny travel chess set Harry had given him for his birthday. He was always fascinated by the little Magi-nets that Harry had said kept the pieces on the board even when you held it upside down. Of course, since it was a Muggle set, the pieces didn't move, but it was much easier to sneak into the library than his older and louder wizard set. Today was the day. Today, he was determined to finally win against himself!


	6. A Platinum Duo

Ron was screaming in just the same hysterical way that he normally screamed when a garden spider perched itself on his leg. He screamed and screamed and screamed until finally, Harry began to wonder if he would pass out due to lack of oxygen.

Now, it is a relatively little known fact that magicals, as opposed to mundanes, are more damage resistant. That isn't to say that they are bullet proof or any other such nonsense, but as the case of Neville Longbottom proves, being thrown headfirst from an upper floor window is not necessarily life threatening. Consequently, magicals have a difficult time understanding certain rules that most mundanes take as a matter of course.

Seatbelts, for instance, are considered a necessity for every person riding in the car in the United States, while in other parts of the world; only the driver using a seatbelt is the norm.

Harry, being mundane raised immediately fastened his seat belt upon entering the Ford Anglia, but Ron, in a fit of 'I'm Magical, So Why Would I Need This Silly Muggle Belt' decided to forgo it. The fact that he didn't quite understand how to work the buckle probably played no factor in his decision at all.

Ron's many screams came so quickly that Harry could have sworn they were really just one long scream. Not that Harry blamed him all that much, because, lest we forget, they did appear to be on a collision course with the Whomping Willow. And really, aside from the slight headache his screams were causing, it was relatively less irksome than the sound of chainsaws and tortured cats that Ron routinely assailed the dormitory with during the school year.

The car; however, seemed to have had enough. It bucked and jolted in midflight and the doors flew open and Ron did a fantastic dive headfirst toward the swaying tree. Harry stayed firm in his seat, his seatbelt kept him following Ron's example. Out of reflexes Harry didn't even know he had, he reached over, grasped the wheel and yanked it hard. The Anglia protested at first and refused to deviate from its seemingly inevitable collision, but Harry yanked harder and the car swerved slightly.

It is said that 'a miss is as good as a mile' and in this case, that proved true. The very slight course correction changed the car's course just enough to avoid crashing into the tree. An added benefit of the departure of Ron was that his foot was no longer depressing the accelerator. The car began to slow as the engine started to spin down. The high strung Anglia loosened its vice-like grip on its steering system (Ron had a habit of holding the wheel loosely at 8 and 4 and the car had gotten a little motion sick). Harry was able to circle around in midair with a large loop and as the car came in for a perfect landing, it blew greeting as loud as it could with its horn.

The entirety of the school came rushing out with the professors in the lead, only to catch the tail end of his landing and gape at the sight of an apparently muggle vehicle parked on the back lawn of Hogwarts. Everyone was too stunned to speak until a young second year with bushy, brown hair pushed and elbowed her way through the crowd. She rushed toward the car and flung open the partially open door and began checking the still strapped in boy who was just sitting there breathing heavily as the adrenalin cleared itself from his body.

The first thing Harry noticed was that the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen were staring at him. The second thing he noticed was that he was no longer flying through the air. Then what he had noticed first decided he should focus his attention toward her again and hugged him and sniffed a little as she began to realize how close she had come to losing one of the most important people in her world again. She had his complete attention as he endeavored to hug her back.

%%%%%%

"Now Severus, I'm sure Mr. Potter only went with Mr. Weasley to keep him out of trouble. Isn't that right Mr. Potter?"

Harry gave a shaky nod.

The sarcasm oozed off of Professor Snape like slime off of a slug. "Oh, yes. And he did such a splendid job of it too."

Either he ignored the sarcasm or he failed to notice it, but Dumbledore seemed to take the statement at face value. "You thought so too? I think 50 points to Gryffindor should suffice."

Snape would have protested, but his cheeks were too red and he was too angry to make his voice work properly. McGonagall just smiled and led a still shaky but unharmed Mister Potter to the castle and ultimately to the Hospital Wing. Hermione had an arm wrapped around her best friend and steadied him as he walked. The third member of the trio was temporarily forgotten amid the muggleborn cheers and the polite clapping of most of the purebloods.

Among the purebloods, Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis were clapping politely and watching Harry and Hermione very closely. They shared a glance and a nod and then disappeared back into the castle. They had a new project to work on. A scowling Draco Malfoy followed into the school soon after.

In the houses of the quick-witted and loyal, Susan Bones and her best friend Hannah Abbot noticed a blond first year clapping enthusiastically and whistling as Harry and Hermione walked past. Her enthusiasm was infectious and the two walked up beside her and began to do the same.

The blond girl's interaction with the niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was not lost on Cho Chang. This changed things a bit. She resolved to adopt a wait and see approach. Marietta may have picked the perfect student to torment a little, but if she had friends like that, then it just wasn't worth the risk. She had her sights on the prefectship after all.

Parvati and Padma Patil were some of the last students to leave the scene of the perfect landing. They were conversing in the language of their parents and though no one else in school could understand all that they said, it quickly became apparent what the primary topic was due to the numerous times the word 'Potter' came up.

Finally, Ginny Weasley and Argus Filch were the last two people on the back lawn. Ginny tugged softly on Mr. Filch's grimy clothes to get his attention. "Sir, I don't see my brother Ron."

At the mention of his name, a groan came from a pile of grass clippings and small twigs. It was Ron! The Anglia, fearing for its life made a dash for the forest before anyone could react. Filch went looking for a professor to levitate the unconscious boy to the Hospital Wing.

Ginny, unsure of what to do, crept closer to get a better look.

*snap*

Wondering why that twig was so much louder than any other, Ginny glanced down and gasped. _That's a wand! Actually, that kind of looks like Ron's wand... RON'S WAND! OH NO!_

Ginny decided to make herself scarce.

When Professor Vector arrived, she noticed the snapped wand and pocketed it while levitating the unconscious boy ahead of her as she made her way back to the castle and the waiting hospital wing.

%%%%%%

Omake:

**Harry:** Healer Woodcock, will he be all right?

**Healer:** I'm truly sorry, Mr. Potter. Our tests show significant mental retardation. He seems to only be able to focus on Food, Quidditch and Chess. For a second year student, he seems to only retain partial knowledge of first year spells, and even then his recall is sorely lacking.

**Harry**: Oh good, for a second I was worried he had been hurt.


	7. Barriers

Barriers

By Xelan

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

Succinct explanation of my views: Hated Jo's ending, my Hermione's middle name is Jane, dislike several Weasleys, and Harry and Hermione are fated in my opinion.

A/N: Wow, I'm tired. Work is taking a lot out of me at the moment. It happens this time every year. I suppose it is somewhat worse this time around, but Good News Everybody! Katdemon18, who is a wonderful Harmony author, has written the wedding scenes for _Good News_ and _Balancing Debts_. This is especially good news because I was probably never going to write them myself due to my inability to do them justice. After consultation and with my blessing, she has written and posted them under her profile. If you liked my stories, then you should head over and give _The W Files_ a read.

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He stood at the foot of the steps. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron both stood behind him, back near the doorway. It was dark and from where he stood, he could see the edge of the forest. Now was the time.

Harry looked pointedly up over his shoulder and saw that this was probably the best location he could hope for. Here, the bastions and curtain wall gave him the opportunity to wall off the stairs so he could not be followed. Certainly, they could re-enter the castle, run to another exit and then give chase, but by then he would have disappeared into the inky darkness of the forest.

It was a plan. Admittedly, it wasn't a _good_ plan, but that was to be expected; Hermione hadn't come up with it - he had.

Harry cast his spell, turned back a moment to imprint her face into his memory and then began to briskly walk off to face his destiny.

%%%%%%%

All three dashed to the foot of the stairs. They all called after him. They still didn't have a plan yet and they were confused as to why he was walking away from them.

Harry ignored them all, until finally Ginny said something that caused him to stop.

"I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were fighting him."

Silence. Harry said nothing but at least he wasn't moving away.

Ginny gulped before continuing, "Just finish this. Finish it and come back to me."

Now Harry turned back to face them and spoke. "I'm not coming back... "

This was not what Ginny expected. Wasn't he a hero? No, he wasn't JUST a hero-he was HER hero. This wasn't right. "Harry. You'll beat him. I know you'll win. Don't give up!"

Harry's mouth tightened at that last remark. "Give up? Give up! He's an immortal, dark psychopath. He's got more magic in his little finger than most people have in their entire body. He's killed dozens, if not thousands of people, and he's a fully trained wizard. Why the hell should I want to give up? He bit out in a rough voice, suffused with barely contained emotion.

Ginny's jaw wobbled and tears filled her eyes. "You can beat him, Harry. I know you can. Do it for me. Do it for-"

But he didn't let her finish. "I'm not doing this for you." His gaze shifted noticeably away from her. His eyes focused on a figure standing a few steps behind Ginny.

There, with concern etched on her face, stood Hermione Granger. Dirty, disheveled, and so very tired but steadfast and resolute - both hands clenched tightly in front of her, her wand gripped tightly. Ron Weasley stood beside her and had an arm wrapped possessively around her shoulder.

Ron's face was grim and darkness ringed his eyes. "I reckon this is something you need to do on your own." There was an edge to his words. He wanted Harry to understand... to realize that he and the rest of the Trio had come this far but would go no further - it was all up to Harry now.

The only one who hadn't spoken was Hermione. She had locked eyes with the last scion of house Potter and felt ashamed. After everything they had been through, after all they had done for one another; this was how it was to end? Ron's words and their meaning had not been lost on her. In one deliberate motion, she slipped free from Ron's arm and briskly moved forward to stand beside Ginny. She never broke eye contact with Harry, nor did she want to.

Ginny tried again. "No, Harry!" and she stepped forward to embrace her hero...

But she ran into an invisible wall. She pushed against it; strained trying to move forward, but the invisible barrier was as unyielding as stone. She moved her hands all over, probing for a weak spot and when she found none, she lifted her wand and cast curses and hexes, trying to breach the wall. Each spell that shot out of her wand failed and so she continued to try more and more powerful and destructive magic.

Ron stepped up beside his sister. He had an ironic smile on his face as he reached forward and tapped the barrier with his knuckles. "Cute. Like the spell Snape used to seal the tower off. Should a' known you'd protect my sister. 'Least the Greasy Git's memories were good for somethin'."

Hermione turned to Ron, her visage dark, her tone full of venom, "You. Know. Nothing!" She turned to Harry and instantly her features softened. "Harry, we're NOT letting you do this alone. Let us through... please."

Harry's expression remained firm and unchanging; he betrayed no shock or any other emotion as Ron snorted at Hermione's words. He obviously didn't want to go any further than this. Nor did the minuscule shake of Ginny's head escape his notice. To Ginny and Ron, Voldemort was worse than the boogey man – Voldemort was real and from birth she had been taught to fear the Dark Lord and revere the Boy-Who-Lived that had defeated him. Facing him herself, even by Harry's side, was just too much to ask.

Only Hermione's resolve was unwavering. Coming up to the barrier, her left hand flat against the unseen wall, her right fist pounding against unyielding nothing and her voice imploring him to talk to her, trying to get him to react.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened there was deep sadness in his eyes. Emotion filled his voice as he spoke to her alone. "It's no use, Hermione. Surprisingly, Ron's two for two tonight. I've got to face him. You know the prophecy," he paused for a moment as if gathering strength. "It's my destiny," he almost spat.

Slowly shaking her head in horror as she denied the injustice of what he was saying; Harry's eyes that were already filled with sadness that clutched at her heart were now filled with pain. "Anyway, you've chosen. I thought... after the tent-but, no..." He took a calming breath and shut his eyes for another brief moment. When he opened his eyes, all emotion had drained from his face. "That spell was one of Snape's, and it's completely intent based. There are only two ways through it. One way is to be more powerful than the caster. Barring that, the only other way is to have no doubts about wanting to go through while having nothing you value left behind. Basically, you either brute force your way through or you would have to forsake everything to pass through with no regrets."

Harry turned to leave.

Hermione, her resolve strengthening with each breath she took, gritted her teeth and pushed forward against the barrier with everything she had. She channeled her **hopes** (A bucktoothed girl with frizzy brown hair made friends with a dark haired boy on a train after she fixed his glasses), her** dreams** (After waiting for weeks for her best friend to ask her to the Yule Ball, she finally agreed to accompany Viktor Krum; having stalled for three days by asking for time to think it over. Was it so bad that she had wanted to dance?), her **desires** (She resolved that if this was to be her last year as a student, then it would be a normal one. And, by Merlin, she WOULD have a boyfriend this year, even if it wasn't Har-err-her first choice. At least this one she had a chance with. He was a real fixer upper, so it couldn't be too hard, right?), her **love** (And when she had been tired, depressed and so alone after they had been deserted in the tent, Harry had been there for her. He cooked for her, he took care of her, and he was there for her. He had opened his heart and she had given herself to him. Her first time with anyone), her **frustration** (The memory was so hazy, frustratingly difficult to remember. Ron had opened the Chamber of-wait... Ron? It had been Ginny. Hadn't it? Her head began to pound), and her **fears** (Harry's deathly sad eyes as he turned away from them - from her); the wall began to bend.

Ginny seeing that Hermione was making progress tried to shoulder her aside and make it to her hero. But Hermione might as well have been made of stone. Despite not seeing how, she was swatted away and tumbled back a dozen meters away.

Hermione was singularly focused, but a red-arsed fly buzzed in her peripheral vision - she brushed it away with only a thought. Harry had taken one-no-two steps away from her. _Unacceptable_. She somehow pushed harder. The wall stretched further - her fingers digging into the magical barrier as if it were thin plastic.

Ron, seeing what had happened when Gin had tried to push Herms aside, rubbed a couple of brain cells together and eventually decided on a different tack. He strode up to her to grab her arm and say, "Come on Hermione. Harry has to do this alone. You'll just be in the way." But he never got that far. The instant his hand touched the fabric of her top, he was smashed back. Despite never having played, seen, or even heard of golf before, the sensation he felt as he was knocked back to land spread eagle on the ground was most similar to that of a golf ball being driven by a wooden driver. His entire chest and mid-section was all one great big bruise.

The wall should be buckling soon. It _would_ buckle. It HAD to buckle. Another insignificant bug fluttered in her periphery. She didn't have time to be distracted - she swatted at it. _Four steps, now five. Ugh... soon he'll be out of sight._ "NO. Not going to happen," she growled to herself.

Deep breath..."HARRY!" she yelled one final time.

He stopped. The desperation and force in her voice resonated with something deep inside him. He turned to glance back over his shoulder. His eyes bulged as he took in the sight. She had stretched the barrier's magic out the length of her body. It looked seconds away from ripping asunder, and Hermione didn't look like she was about to quit anytime soon.

*FWOOSH*

The barrier parted not with a bang but with a whimper. What had been a nigh immovable object suddenly parted and allowed her passage through. Nearly tripping over her own feet as the resistance suddenly ceased, she found herself being supported by Harry's strong arms. "I'm going with you," she declared.

Looking ready to protest, Harry saw the determined look in her eyes. "What about..."

"-I'M going with YOU" she interrupted.

Harry knew from long experience that she would brook no argument.

Ron had crawled to the once more seamless barrier. His scrabbling fingers tried to find purchase to lever himself up, but his fingers merely grasped at solid, slick nothing. "Herms!" he shouted after her retreating form.

Hermione didn't answer.

Ginny, being far less injured than Ron, loudly called Harry's name from a safe distance.

Harry didn't answer.

Harry and Hermione disappeared together into the forbidden forest.

%%%%%%%%

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered to her. Disbelief tinged his voice. _This absolutely CANNOT mean what I think it means. Things like this just don't happen to me. There must be some other explanation..._

"I'm where I'm supposed to be," she whispered back. _Huh... That was easier than I expected, and not even a shred of regret._

"No, I mean it's impossible for any of you to have gotten through that barrier. My magic's stronger and you left Ron behind. You shouldn't be able to be here." _I don't deserve to be happy. There must be something I'm not seeing._

She glanced at him sideways. "So why am I here, then?" Her cheek twitched slightly as she bit it to keep a straight face. _Harry looks so adorable all confused and uncertain; much better than heartbroken and depressed._

Harry scratched his head. "I don't know," he admitted. _But I wish you'd tell me._

Hermione looked up at him in disbelief. "You don't know?"

He shook his head. "No, do you?"

She shrugged. "Well, if everything was as you explained it and since I know I'm not more powerful than you, then I can only conclude that nothing that was back on the other side of the barrier was more important to me than what was on this side of the barrier."

"Oh..."

His eyes still looked confused.

"Oh!"

_Sounds like he's figured it out,_ Hermione mused. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Harry?" She held out a hand.

"I think so." He reached out to grab her hand.

"Good."

They scanned the forest for enemies before resuming their advance.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"When this is all over..."

"Yeah?"

"Will you..."

He smiled at her. He had an idea what she was trying to ask. "Anything, just you name it."

She smiled back at him. "Will you take me dancing?"

This stopped Harry in his tracks and he abruptly turned to stare at her smiling, hopeful, and simultaneously naughty face.

Smiling at the absurdity of the conversation in the face of nearly certain death, he decided that two could play at that game. "All right, when this is all over, you and I will have the first dance at our wedding." His face broke into a wide grin. "Will that suit you?"

Hermione leaned over and kissed him. "That suits me just fine."

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_Please leave a review. It really helps with the creative process._

End Notes: Special thanks to Ralph and all the wonderful people at Seel'vor's Yahoo group. This story would be much worse without their help.


	8. Granger Parents

"You look like you're just about ready to spit nails," he whispered into her ear.

Predictably, the lady being whispered to jerked slightly as she became aware of his presence. "Daniel Granger!" she bit out tersely. "What have I told you about sneaking about like that?"

The man identified as Daniel Granger stepped around to stand by her. He had a cheeky smile on his face. "Oh, I dunno... Something about not doing it anymore? I didn't pay that much attention at the time, since I don't intend to stop." He started to move to give her a light peck on the cheek.

Emma saw the movement for what it was and gave him such a glare of utter disdain that she froze him in mid-motion. He was utterly motionless but his eyes were watching her intently. Seeing that he was still frozen several moments later, she cleared her throat and mentioned in a casual tone, "You're doing it wrong."

Daniel's brow raised at that pronouncement. Not needing to be told a second time, he unfroze, rushed forward, swept her up and into his arms and thoroughly kissed her.

She reciprocated in kind and they were together like that for several minutes.

After several minutes had passed, the two were once more standing together in their living room. He was deftly massaging her shoulders and she was trying to look stern and mildly menacing. She wasn't succeeding very well. Daniel's hands just felt so wonderful and it was all she could do to try and at least appear disapproving of it.

"Why do you always do that when I'm trying to be stern and mildly menacing?" she groaned out as he was launching a two pronged assault on her back. It was amazing to her that he could target the juncture where her neck met her shoulder and the small of her back at the same time all the while keeping her intimately pressed against him.

He kissed her neck lovingly and answered, "Because that's not who you are – not really."

"Card carrying man hater, remember? I will rake any boy over hot coals if he even thinks of mucking about with _MY_ daughter."

"Ah... So that's what this is about." He murmured as he finished his impromptu massage and moved his hands teasingly lower.

"Of course it is. We're a progressive household. I can be just as threatening as any father. Besides, Hermione has you twisted around her little finger. There's no way you'd deny her anything or, for that matter, anyone. Men are devious, conniving and absolutely _cannot_ be trusted - even the not yet grown up ones." Emma mildly ranted.

Daniel Granger wrapped his arms around his wife. "And yet you married me."

The fierce expression on Emma Granger's face softened. "I know you love me, so it's not really a fair comparison," she contradicted. "That you survived the hell I put you through during the years I spent recovering from what that Bastard did to me before he finally went to prison leaves no doubt in my mind about that. "

"You know that isn't a very good reason to marry someone. That I stayed with you through everything could just mean that I'm a stubborn idiot," said Daniel as he nuzzled behind her ear.

"True, but I have a good sense for people." She nuzzled right back.

"..."

Daniel wasn't moving.

"-The Bastard notwithstanding," she hastily amended.

Normal service resumed. "All right. I'll grant you that. That you married me couldn't have anything to do with you feeling the same way I feel about you, could it?

"Pfft. Marrying you was the least I could do." She blushed. "In any case, _he_ is exactly the reason why all men should be locked up!"

"I'd hope you would come and visit me on those cold and lonely nights."

She rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you, when I start ranting about men, I don't normally mean to include you - except when you forget to put the seat down."

"Cheers to the former and, as always, I'll try to remember the latter."

Sighing a little louder than necessary, Emma Granger tilted her head back to lean against her husband's shoulder. Her hands went lower to cover the hand that was gently stroking her stomach through her blouse and hold it in place. "Your hands are so warm..."

"Uh huh. Other parts of me are just as warm or warmer."

"Yes, I know. That's why I let you share my bed."

"Oh, is that why?"

"Absolutely. You're a sight cheaper than one of those electric heating pads. Plus, I don't have to worry about unplugging you or worry about you causing a fire."

"Ah, you're referring to my function as a foot warmer..."

"Of course. What other use are you?"

Daniel's hand slipped lower and started to rub once again.

Emma began to purr.

"Do I need to demonstrate further?" He asked.

Despite facing the wrong direction, she could easily imagine the satisfied look on her husband's face simply by hearing it in his tone. "Not fair; you marry a man and raise just one daughter together and the man starts to think he can take liberties."

"So that's a no, then?"

"I didn't say that." She slipped from his grasp but held onto one hand. She began to pull him toward their bedroom. "After careful consideration - yes. I think additional demonstrations are in order, but not here. I think this calls for a change in venue."

"Yes, Dear."

She stopped in mid-step and remarked, "We've discussed this before."

Dan rolled his eyes. "Yes, Emma dear."

"Better," she declared and then resumed her hurried pace.

As they made their way quickly up the stairs, she slowed briefly and turned to her husband. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing." Her eyes glinted and a smirk covered her face. "You're trying to soften me up before Hermione brings her friend home. Well, let me tell you right now -it won't work."

Daniel had a completely smitten look on his face as he gazed at his wife. He loved the contrasts of this woman: firm and unyielding outside, but tender, kinky and highly sexual on the inside. Highly intelligent and possessing of an iron will in most things, but when it came to him, their daughter, or the exploited or abused, then she was kind and gentle. She had even consented to marry him without too much fuss despite swearing off men completely after the incident with The Bastard. "Do you have any idea what you do to me when you look at me with those glinting eyes and that know-it-all tone?" he was beginning to breathe heavily his eyes were starting to look a bit predatory.

Feeling a shiver run through her spine, she leaned in close. "You better believe I do," she challenged.

Reaching his breaking point, Daniel scooped her up and in his arms in a bridal carry and resumed his dash up the stairs.

Squirming about in his grip, her dislike of heights that her daughter had also inherited quickly came to the fore, "You-you, MAN!" she yelled in an exasperated tone, all the while trying to clutch to his neck.

Daniel halted in front of their bedroom. He was just about to kick the door open with his foot. "As I would never force myself on you, I think I should ask if you want me to stop..." He breathed deeply.

Emma, with her arms wrapped around his neck, with her hair a mess, with her blouse missing several buttons and showing wonderful cleavage encased in satiny red, and with her skirt hiked up revealing her equally red and damp knickers, gave a sigh. _This is the price I pay for falling in love with a man who desires AND respects me._ Pulling herself closer to him to stare him in the eyes, "Just shut up and fuck me. They'll be here soon and I'll need time to get ready again."

And he did.

%%%%%%%%%%

Standing in the kitchen doorway, a wide-eyed Harry leaned back into the kitchen proper. His mouth wasn't gaping, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why not. His lips formed a small 'O' and he felt flushed. The sight he had seen in the living room and on the stairwell was, to be quite honest, one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

Sirius just sat at the kitchen table eating a sandwich and chuckling at the poor gob smacked teen. "I hope you took some good notes, Harry!"

Harry sucked in a breath and turned to his girlfriend. "Hermione," Harry hesitantly asked. "Should I have been taking notes?"*

Hermione, who shared many amazing qualities with her mum: a fear of heights, a dislike of men not named Harry Potter or Daniel Granger (but in a different way), a kinky streak, and a curious lack of gag reflex, turned to her boyfriend and raised an eyebrow.

Harry looked down at Hermione's note filled spiral bound notebook complete with illustrations and her ballpoint pen. "Shall I assume that you'll be sharing your notes."

"Actually, I was thinking we should get some hands one experience. Just copying MY notes wouldn't help you learn the material. Only through constant practice and repetition will you truly master a subject."

Harry spoke in stunned amazement. "Repetition..."

"Constant." Hermione assured her boyfriend with a smile.

Sirius chuckled again but more loudly. "Harry, do try not to forget the charm I taught you."

"Bye, Sirius," the two teens both chorused.

A sigh escaped Sirius' mouth. "Just as soon as I finish my sandwich and make my introductions to Hermione's parents." He smirked at the couple who were investigating each others' tonsils. "Do try not to rip each others clothes off until I can get away."

XXXXXXXXXX

*Thanks Mike (MoA)

Omake:

"Hermione," Harry asked. "Should I be taking notes?"

By Mike (MoA) Fairbanks


	9. Harry Potter and the Privateer

Harry Potter and the Privateer

By Xelan

Original Idea by Lord of Bones

Original, Original Idea by JKR

A loud boom echoed through the open air. The sounds of pillaging and plundering ceased and all eyes turned toward the crew manning the cannons. They had already captured the mansion, the cannons should be silent.

First Mate Black took a swig of grog and cursed mightily, comparing the cannon mates to the goats that Aberforth was so found of and promising that moldy bread and stale coffee was in their future if they didn't shape up and shoot right.

The cannon mates looked down at the First Mate, then Captain Potter, and then Miss Johnson. Each time, they held up their hands palms up and shook their heads. They hadn't made that shot.

Another loud shot filled the air and scant seconds later part of Rookwood's roof disappeared in a hail of wood and shingles.

Rookwood, who had been cowering under an overturned couch peaked his head out to see a young man in an odd red coat with gold trim. His glossy high buckled black boots shown in the sunlight along with his gleaming saber and dirk. The pirate captain's hat atop his head completed the look and Rookwood couldn't help but gulp as he took in how pointy the saber looked while pointed at his throat. But the man's attention wasn't focused on him.

From beyond the tree line behind the estate, a mast could be seen among bending trees moving relentlessly forward. It flew the Union Jack from its main-mast.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He shouted to his crew. "Hurry up, ya' scurvy sea dogs!"

As the bow slipped out from between the trees, the flag shimmered for a moment and then was replaced by the predominantly red of the privateer. Just before the ship completely cleared the tree line, a second flag could be seen from Mizzen-mast - solid black with a witch holding a book in one hand and cutlass in the other.

Harry kicked Rookwood in the mouth, sheathed his blade and then neatly turned on one heel to begin stomping back to his ship. "Clear out, you bilge rats. We've got company!"

Still in pain and missing a few teeth, Rookwood came to his shaky feet. His mansion was in ruins, the pirates had demolished the entire front of his home and the other ship had taken off half the roof-"

*BOOM!*

*CRASH!*

*SPLINTER!*

Rookwood dove underneath his couch once more as the rest of his roof came crashing down. There he stayed until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Commodore Hermione Jane Granger at your service," said a pleasant but forceful voice.

He looked up in surprise. She was resplendent in her blue, white and gold - and the bicorn hat completed the ensemble. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter's gone rogue. He's cut a swatch of destroyed mansions and plundered estates all across Magical Britain."

"No, I mean, what are YOU doing here! This is a job for the Aurors!"

"No need for Aurors. They'd only spoil my chances." Hermione said simply. She reached slowly into her uniform coat and withdrew a sheaf of parchment. "Letters of Marque signed by Fudge himself." After giving the prone man a few moments to read the documents, she replaced them in her coat.

"All right. So you're in charge of capturing Potter. I understand that. But why specifically YOU?"

Commodore Granger smiled a perfectly white, straight, toothy grin. "Because in all the world, I know Harry Potter best. And when I find him, I'll tie him down," _to my bed_, "torture him," _with silk scarves and gentle caresses,_ "and teach him the true nature of his folly," _by bedding him until he wilts._ "He shall know my wrath,"_ for playing pirate without me._ "By the end, he will scream my name begging for mercy," _and release!_

Rookwood couldn't help by smile at the image the mudblood painted. That sort of goal he could stand behind. The effect was ruined by the two missing front teeth. "Allow me to aid you in your quest," he declared with a lisp. Painfully, he went to his dresser, mercifully spared the fates of his paintings, bookshelves and wall safe. If Commodore Granger hadn't arrived, then he felt sure the pirates would have left him completely penniless.

Limping painfully back to the muggleborn privateer, he stood before her, opened his money sack and counted out a handful of coins to hand to her to aid her fight against the dread pirate Potter.

But Hermione was quicker. Before Rookwood could hand her the galleons, she had relieved him of his money bag and was already tying it to her waist. Gob smacked and still holding the four galleons, Rookwod could only gape as Hermione thanked him for his contribution and walked off with the full, weighty bag of gold jingling against her white breeches.

Recovering his ability to speak, Rookwood began to yell about the damage to his house. From what he could see, none of her shots had damaged Potter's vessel in the least but had instead removed HIS roof.

Just stepping onto her deck, she called back, "Sorry about that. Our gunner's mate is still getting the hang of black powder. Isn't that right Miss Lovegood?"

"Aye Captain!" chirped Luna. Smiling wildly, her face smudged with soot, she gave a smart little salute with the ramrod, which was already blackened from spent powder. Her long blond hair was pulled back by a pirate bandanna and her Butterbeer cork necklace seemed right in place around her neck.

Motioning for her first mate, Miss Bones, to make ready to sail, she yelled to her crew. "We'll catch that scallywag yet. Mark my words!"

The crew on deck composed of Hannah Abbot, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and the Patil Twins answered in unison. "Aye Aye Captain!"

(Sometime Later)

*SWISH*

*SWISH*

*SWISH*

Hermione's chest felt cold. _Not again..._

Eyes closed and biting her lip, she glanced downward. Her white blouse was hanging open... again. He'd ruined another shirt and another bra. Fortunately her crew was all female and the only male immediately around was Harry. _Not like he hasn't see it before a couple hundred times._

*sigh*

She looked up to find Harry had escaped back to his own ship.

Her eye twitched for a moment as she glanced into the distance and spotted another ship closing in on them. _Aurors. Damn them to Davy Jones!_

She fell to her knees in frustration. "WHAT'S A WITCH GOTTA DO TO GET SOME ALONE TIME WITH HER MAN!"

End Note: Worry not fellow Harmonians. Though the original premise I was working from was that Hermione was trying and failing to get onto Harry's ship, if I were to ever write more of this, then it would certainly end up much more Harmonious.


	10. HERMI One

HERMI-One

A/N: Just something that came to me when I was writing something else. Hermione isn't all that common of a name... at least it doesn't appear to be. Food for thought.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, how was your year, Boy?" Vernon asked Harry.

He thought about it for several moments before replying, "It went pretty well."

The two walked off toward the car park and Vernon's car.

%%%%%

Helping his daughter into the car and shutting her door, Milton Granger opened his own door and entered the car. Before the door closed, he said aloud in a bombastic sort of way, "Well, Hermione, we are very interested in the goings on up at that school of yours." And the door shut.

Hermione slouched back into the soft leather. "I don't know where to begin."

The woman in the front seat chuckled as she too entered and buckled her seatbelt. She began to close her open window as the car roared to life. "The beginning, of course." The window sealed.

"Yes, Mum." Hermione answered sullenly.

"Hermi-One, we're no longer in public. I expect you to answer as thoroughly and diligently as you were programmed to. None of this 'mum' and 'dad' rubbish. Now, broad overview of important events. We'll be more thorough once we're back at base."

The light seemed to go out of Hermione's eyes while at the same time she immediately sat up straight. "Affirmative. Made contact with Harry on First September as previously reported. Entered into friendship with Harry and Ronald Weasley on Thirty First October. Participated in Harry's termination of subject of interest known as Lord Voldemort..." She paused for a moment and her eyes which had been blank and sightless before seemed to focus on something; though, her two handlers didn't notice.

"Hermi-One, continue your report," ordered the female agent.

"This unit completed the school term with high marks and..." Her carefully modulated, inflection free voice quavered for a split second and then she continued, "... I-I promised to write Harry over the summer," Hermione finished.

To say the two agents were shocked was an understatement. She wasn't a person, she was an it, a tool, a weapon of Her Majesty's Government designed and built keep an eye on the Magicals. No personality except what they programmed into her and certainly no free will.

"Hermi-One!" Barked Milton. "Who did you say you promised to write to?"

Hermione's eyes glazed once more. "This unit promised to write to H-Har-subject of interest Potter."

Milton took his eyes from the road for a split second to catch Diane's eye.

Diane nodded. They would have to go over every last speck of data from Hermi-One. It was behaving unreliably.

XXXXXXXXXX

H.E.R.M.I. One

H umanoid

E spionage and

R econnaissance

M agical

I nfiltration unit

O

N

E


	11. The Deal

The Deal

A/N: This is unusually grim coming from me. So grim in fact that I raised the rating just for this. Anyway, I recall hearing that Ron Weasley's birthday had recently passed. I wanted to do something _special _for the event; however, I was delayed a bit. Word of warning, grim things ahead, I'm a devote Harmonian...

You've been warned…

XXXXXXXXXXX

"You killed Hermione." It was a statement. Admittedly, a simple statement but with repercussions that were anything but simple.

"She was askin' for it, mate. Her fault, really…"

"SHUT. UP." He applied the electrode to the bastard's nutsack.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He stopped electrocuting the bastard as the smell of burned hair and charred flesh started to become noticeable. "Now, you were saying something?"

"Haa-hah-Harry…" he panted. "You've got to believe me. She was leading me on. She'd been leading me on for months-Years! Always flirting with me, helping me with assignments and always hanging around me. She was a manipulative little bitch. Can you really blame me that I didn't take it well when she said no?"

Harry poured more water over the restrained body and began affixing alligator clips to various parts of the last living Weasley. "She wasn't flirting, she was arguing; she helped you because I asked her to, not because she wanted to; and she wasn't hanging around you, she was hanging around me and you just happened to be there."

Ron didn't know what to say.

A voice carried over from the newly opened door. "Be sure to shower or at least cast an appropriate cleaning charm after you're done with the bastard. I don't want the smell of charred flesh and burned hair to spoil our dinner."

"Yes, Dear." Harry called out after he smiled at his wife. He was so blessed to have her back. He was also equally lucky that the terms of the agreement he'd made had precluded her from taking her own revenge. His smile turned wicked as he thought, _So much the better._

Ron's jaw dropped as the voice registered. "Bu-b-but… I killed her. I know I killed her. How can she BE _HERE_!" He spared a glance at the retreating figure. His eyes widened fully at the sight and a whimper could be heard escaping the gaping maw that is his mouth.

Harry leaned forward and pulled the bastard's face closer by the hair. "I got her back."

Ron was breathing heavily "But she was dead! DEAD!" the redhead argued and tried to thrash despite the shackles and straps.

Harry slammed Ron's head backward against the metal frame of the chair resulting in a dull metallic clunk sound. "Death was willing to deal with me." He almost spat on the young man he had once considered his friend.

Eyes shut tightly in pain, he managed to croak out, "A deal… I-I don't understand."

Unconcerned with Ron's confusion, Harry brought the generator to full power. "It's no longer your concern."

The whirr of the machine was ominous as it filled Ron's ears and he could see equipment sparking madly. In desperation he began to plead, "Harry… Harry. Come on, mate. This is a joke, right? Tell me it's a joke and we'll have a good laugh down at the pub. No hard feelings, right? Forgive and forget and all that. She's alive so no harm done."

Harry's green eyes were like ice. "No harm done?" he asked coldly.

"It's me, Harry. Your best mate, Ron. You don't need to do this!"

Harry placed his hand on a conspicuous looking lever and closed his eyes. "Actually, I do. There's one final payment to be made."

*click*

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End


	12. Confessions of a Teenage Bookworm

A/N: I own nothing you recognize. My Hermione's middle name is Jane. Anyway, I wanted to write something bit darker and more emotional.

Setting: I envision this happening in St. Mungos around the Canon time period toward the end of fifth year. Let's suppose Ron summoned some living brains and it latched on tight. That's why he's unconscious. Unsure whether there was a battle in the Ministry or whether this was just a field trip to the Dept. of Mysterious or something equally mundane. This is during visiting hours.

XXXXXXXX

As Harry's breathing grew deep and even, Hermione slowed her stroking of her best friend's brow. He looked so peaceful in sleep – she didn't want to spoil his rest so she quietly cast a silencing charm around him. There was something she needed to get off of her chest and it wasn't anything Harry needed to know.

After the spells were in place to warn her of anyone approaching the room or anyone trying to eavesdrop, she addressed the figure lying on the bed. "According to your chart, you've been heavily sedated and you're not expected to wake for several hours yet." Hermione leaned back and stretched out her neck –her long hair gently brushing against her delicate skin as it settled. "You, laying there unconscious and insensate presents an unprecedented opportunity to me."

"I never thought I could feel like this about anybody. Harry doesn't know. I've tried very, very hard to hide it from him. In fact, it's really the only secret I've kept from him."

"Though I don't think I could ever admit this to your face... well, at least not unless numerous other very specific events had already occurred." She cleared her throat and began again. "You see, Ron, the truth is..." She closed her eyes as she prepared to make her confession.

"I-_hate__-_you," she said in a rush. Pausing for a moment, she let out a little breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

"My god, that feels liberating to say," Hermione mused aloud.

"I know that people bandy about the word 'hate' a lot these days, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that I HATE you. Honestly, I truly and thoroughly hate you. Just thinking about you causes periods of black, blinding rage that I have to carefully hide. The hatred I have for you is a passionate, nearly all consuming fire, burning through me." She let her head drop back as far as it would go. Her hand came up and began to massage her forehead for a few moments before resuming her discourse.

"If you were able, then I'm sure you'd be wondering how I can be sure that this pure, absolute hatred I feel for you is what I think it is. Well, all I can say is that I AM sure – absolutely... positively... and completely sure. Not a doubt exists in my mind about that." Her eyes had taken on a steely look, the normally milk chocolate colored eyes now seemed more like flint.

Now if someone was listening, then that listener would surely agree that Hermione had adopted a more philosophical tone – still self assured but not as harsh. "I suppose, if I hadn't experienced real love, then I might have conceivably mistaken this pure hatred I have for you for something else – perhaps something equally as pure. Maybe I might have even confused hate for love, but lucky for me, I've been fortunate." She looked down at her exhausted young man leaning against her. She brushed back his unruly dark locks from his forehead, then leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss directly over his old scar, hoping to keep the bad dreams away. Again, an observer would note she seemed calmed by the gesture – possibly from long practice and possibly for some other reason.

Turning her gaze back towards Ron, a frown settled on her face. "Now, if you could hear me, then you'd also probably be wondering why exactly is it that I hate you oh-so-very-much? The answer may or may not surprise you." She conjured a drinking glass on the bedside table and filled it with water from the nearby pitcher and took a short drink.

Throat no longer parched, she continued. "You've hurt me. Sometimes, I actually wonder if you even mean to, but I suspect it wouldn't matter whether you mean to or not. The point is that you do and that you do it constantly. That, in and of itself isn't all that bad. A person can develop quite a thick skin over the course of many years. I'll be clear, if it were only me, then I might have someday found it in my heart to forgive you."

Hermione took another sip of her water and took a moment to swish the almost room temperature water through her teeth before swallowing and then continuing.

"If it were JUST me that you hurt, then I might never have even contemplated saying anything, but it isn't just me that you hurt. The fact of the matter is that Harry cares for me. He probably cares for me too much sometimes. When you let your mouth run like a broken fire hydrant, then you hurt me, and that hurts Harry. Again, it doesn't matter whether you mean to or not, YOU hurt him. YOU force Harry to choose between supporting his best mate and supporting the woman who loves him more than anything on this Earth. YOU make Harry sad. Not just every now and then, but constantly."

She sipped at her water again trying to center herself.

"The only reason you're still breathing is because Harry thinks you're his friend, and I will NOT be the person that forces him to choose. I will NOT be the one to tell him he has one less friend when he hasn't had enough friends to begin with. Be grateful for his friendship and stop being such a selfish, stupid, immature, little fucking arsehole, or so help me God I will..." She paused for a moment as she waited for her chest to stop heaving.

"I would kill to protect Harry; I've done it before and I will likely do it again. I know you can't consciously hear me, but modern medicine tells us that the mind is always listening. This is it. This is your warning wakeup call. Grow up now or else you won't have a chance to grow up at all. Know that if you _ever_ pull another stupid jealousy stunt, like what happened with the dragon back in Fourth year, which leads to Harry getting hurt, then that stunt will be the last thing you'll ever do, because I will End you right then and there."

"Harry's happiness is one of the things in this world that I hold most dear. That's what it means to be best friends." She kissed Harry on the cheek. "So if I were you, Ronald Bilius Weasly, then I would tread very cautiously. It all comes down to Harry. You are his friend, but you're not my friend and I would keep that in mind."


	13. Hidden Talents

Quick intro: Ralph S. wrote a drabble called Drabblet n!-2 on Seel'vor's group. It basically involved 'The Power He Knows Not' and clapping. It ended with Ginny gasping due to something Harry did. I continue from there.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Ralph S. started this thought.

Drabblet n!-2 – Hidden Talents

Harry scoffed at the redhead. "You think that's something? Try this!" And Harry began to whistle Rule Britannia.

Instantly, Snape, Dumbledore, Filch, Umbridge, Ron, Ginny, Molly, Draco, and every single Death Eater dropped to their knees screaming until their brains simply shut down due to massive amounts of pain.

Hermione was most perplexed as people she thought were their friends lay on the ground as if dead. However, she stood by her Harry's side; her wand was still at the ready as she kept any eye open for additional aggressors.

Professor McGonagall, quite pleased about all the Death Eaters being down, was also quite concerned. "Mister Potter, what have you done now?"

Harry shrugged. "Still not quite sure why, Professor, but whenever I whistle that particular song, anyone who wishes me harm seems to experience excruciating pain. At least, that's what I gathered after I discovered it while staying with the Dursleys."

Minerva's mouth was pinched tight as she glared down at the Headmaster. His ears were leaking blood. "Very interesting, Mister Potter. As you might imagine, while it was not the best whistling performance I've ever heard, I thought it was quite passable." She turned to look at Hermione. "Don't you agree, Miss Granger?" she asked.

Hermione hesitated and cleared her throat."That's Missus Potter, Ma'am. And yes, I thought it was quite lovely. Very stirring."

"Ah! My apologies, Miss Gran-err-Missus Potter." Minerva smiled at her two favorite student and then summoned all the unconscious bastards' and bitches' wands and magically restrained each and every one of them up. Having completed her task, she turned to Mister Potter once more and with a raised eyebrow asked, "Is that all of your unexplained hidden talents or are there still more?"

Harry actually looked a little embarrassed. He looked at Hermione for a second and she plugged her ears tightly. "Only one more, Ma'am."

With a twinkle in her eye, the elder witch gestured with her hand for him to continue. She conjured ear muffs for herself just be safe. It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution.

Harry snapped his fingers on both hands simultaneously. Suddenly, there was a shriek from all single, beautiful women within earshot. Well, at least any single beautiful women with any desire at all for Harry Potter. They all chucked off their robes and ran racing to Harry intent to kiss, lick, grope and fondle him and utterly mad in their need to have him reciprocate.

Before they could reach their target, Hermione stunned the lot of them.

McGonagall twitched her lip, clearly amused. It was an impressive feat to stun so many in such a short amount of time. "I assume that means you don't intend to share?"

Blushing, Hermione admitted, "No, no. I'm willing to share, but there's a process for these things; tryouts and resumés and such. I'll start accepting resumés and scheduling tryouts once they've woken up." She winked at her mentor. "Only the best for my husband and me."

"Ah, wonderful idea. That explains a great deal." McGonagall said before turning to go and floo the authorities.


	14. Genius

Quick intro: Ralph S. wrote a Harry Potter snippet involving 'The Power He Knows Not' and clapping. Stick97 decided that if Ralph could do that, then he could write a Looney Tunes cross with Bugs Bunny adopting Harry Potter. He wrote a beginning entitled The Tom and Harry Show 1A that can be found on Seel'vor's group that involves their meeting and Harry's rescue from Privet Drive. I wrote this as a supplement after Potter Thinker suggested Wile E. Coyote.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Stick97 started this thought.

The Tom and Harry Show – Genius snippet

"Eeh… Harry m'boy, allow me to introduce—"

The strange, brown, furry creature interjected into the conversation. "Your most cunning adversary? Your astoundingly intriguing antagonist? Or perhaps the most devastatingly dastardly doer of detestable deeds you have ever known?" His chest puffed up more and more with each word he spoke.

Bugs forcefully slapped the coyote on the back of the head and a loud –smack!– could be heard. "Shaddup!"yelled Bugs. After clearing his throat, the rabbit continued, "Now as I was sayin'… Dis' is my old punchin' bag, and comedy relief…" then Bugs trailed off and turned to the dazed coyote."Hey, Mac? You got one of those cards 'a yours?"

Still seeing stars and letting his head loll about dazedly, the coyote held up a card on a stick to introduce himself. "Wile E. Coyote – super genius, at your service," it read.

Harry stifled a laugh. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Coyote." Then Bugs cleared his throat. "I mean, Pleased to meetcha, Doc!" Harry amended.

Bugs ribbed Harry for a second. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. Ahem… Hey Doc, who's the little cutie ya' got hidin' behind you?"

Shaking himself briefly, Wile returned to his polished appearance. Smoothly, he side stepped and gently pushed the little girl forward. "Allow me to introduce my goddaughter, Her-"

But the little girl didn't let him finish. Emboldened, she stepped forward and handed Harry a card.

Harry just stood there wide eyed. She was cute and she was smiling at him.

Bugs read over Harry's shoulder out loud. "Hermione J. Granger – child genius."

As Hermione smiled even brighter, Harry made note of her two front teeth... her two rabbit-like front teeth. He wondered if perhaps she was the most gorgeous thing on two legs he had ever seen. Maybe it was Bugs' influence, but his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest and he had the strangest urge to  
>whistle.<p> 


	15. Lights!

Lights!

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Just something I wrote to cheer myself up. My new dictation software crashed and it took a snippet I was writing down with it.

XXXXXXXXXX

"That's just GREAT, Hermione. Now what's Harry supposed to play Quidditch on? Tell us that, you're so smart!"

Hermione's mouth was pinched very tightly shut and her head was lowered though her eyes stared up with conviction. Harry could just make out the hastily hidden beginnings of tears reluctantly forming around her eyes. "I had no other choice. It wasn't safe."

"Whaddaya mean it wasn't safe?" demanded Ron. "It was a brand new, never before used Firebolt, for Merlin's sake. And speaking of that, what do YOU know about brooms!"

"By not safe, I meant that I thought, and Professor McGonagall agrees, that Harry's new broom was sent by Sirius Black," she explained to Harry in a penitent tone.

Harry's eyes widened.

Hermione turned to the side to glare at Ron and said, "And as to brooms, I'll have you know that I researched everything I could about brooms, the Firebolt in particular, and I even wrote the company to ask additional questions." She poked Ron hard on the shoulder several times (and inwardly cringed at how filthy he was, she resolved to wash her hand several times once this was over). "Well? What do you have to say about that?" Far from the penitent and remorseful pose she'd struck when talking to Harry, now she seemed self-assured. Haughty almost…

Ron was scowling. "I know plenty about brooms! Charlie used to let me-" he started, but Hermione interrupted.

"Charlie? He's your brother isn't he? So, what you're saying is you don't actually own a broom, and if your grades are any indicator, then you couldn't research to save your life. Is that about the size of it?" She demanded.

Ron, face redder than even his hair, looked off to the side for a moment, his eyes motioned to Hermione and then the oddest thing happened. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. "It's NOT supposed to be like this." Ron bit out tersely.

"Tough." Hermione responded.

Clenching his fists in rage, Ron looked as if he was going to start screaming, but he saw Harry had positioned himself behind Hermione and the glare was scarily similar to how Harry had looked when Lockhart had betrayed them in the Chamber. "BE THAT WAY!" He declared for all the world to hear and then stormed off and out of view.

Harry looked genuinely confused. "What now?" He asked in an uncertain tone to Hermione.

"Are you mad at me, Harry?" Hermione asked, her timidity had returned in full force.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Well, no, not exactly. I mean, I would have preferred you actually _asking_ first before doing what you did, but I guess I can understand the need. But…" and Harry trailed off.

"What? What? _But _what?" Hermione asked while clutching at his robes with both hands.

"Though I hate to admit it, Ron did have a point… besides the one on his head."

"Oh?" Hermione queried uncertainly. Ron actually having a point was a new proposition for her. "Explain."

"What am I going to ride?"

Eyebrows rising at the question, Hermione released his robes and slinked up to him. "If you want something to ride, then ride me." She said in a deeper, huskier tone than should have been possible for one so young. She then pressed her body into his.

Instinctively, Harry's arms went around her to draw her body closer.

Lips found lips and suddenly a loud voice filled the room. "CUT! CUT! That is SO not in the script!"

Harry and Hermione didn't seem to care.

The director, a man whose natural voice came in two flavors – loud and louder, screamed at his lead stars. "STOP IT YOU TWO! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! I GAVE YOU SOME LEEWAY FOR ARTISTIC PURPOSES BUT THIS ISN'T A LOVE SCENE! AND EVEN IF IT WERE, YOU TWO WOULDN'T BE THE ONES DOING THE KISSING!"

That stopped the young girl. "WELL, EXCUSE ME FOR WANTING TO KISS MY HUSBAND! IT'S NOT OUR FAULT THAT THE SCRIPT HAD BAD SOURCE MATERIAL!"

Much grumbling could be heard. "I AM NOT GETTING INTO ANOTHER ARGUMENT WITH YOU ABOUT PLOT HOLES AND INCONSISTENT CHARACTERISATION. IF I DID, THEN WE'D BE HERE ALL NIGHT. STOP ACTING LIKE YOUR 20 YEAR OLD SELVES AND START BEHAVING LIKE THE 13 YEAR OLD SELVES YOU'VE BEEN SPELLED TO APPEAR TO BE!"

"BUT-" Harry began.

"AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU ACTUALLY ACTED LIKE THAT WHEN YOU **WERE** 13. I NEED YOU TO FOLLOW THE SCRIPT. UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes, Director." They both simultaneously chorused. Stepping apart, the two straightened their appearances and went back to their marks.

The director palmed his head for a moment and then raised his megaphone again. "SOMEONE GET WHATSISNAME BACK ON SET! TELL HIM IF HES NOT BACK HERE IN FIVE THEN WE'RE GOING WITH ANOTHER ACTOR!"

"Again?" A small, useless peon asked.

The director pointed his megaphone directly at the over-reaching peon. "YES! AGAIN! Now, GO!"


	16. More Genius

More Genius

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Bugs and Co. belongs to Warner Bros.

A/N: Here's a continuation of Genius (aka. Chapter 14 of The Warren). Ralph S. is directly responsible for the prompt at the beginning that segues into what I wrote. For more info, check chapter 14.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hermione J. Granger - Child genius."

Harry pulled a carrot from nowhere and stuck it into Hermione's mouth,  
>who promptly began to gnaw.<p>

"Pleased ta meetcha."

-crunch- -crunch-

"Yummy! Uncle Wile! He's got the good stuff!"

Wile covered his mouth. This was all quite ridiculous for a creature of his intelligence and cunning. All the time he'd spent trying to educate his goddaughter on the finer points of being an intelligent and decisive hunter, only to have her revert by simply feeding her a carrot. A comedy for certain. "Yes, quite." He said kindly.

Hermione daintily finished off the last of the juicy, succulent carrot. "Got anymore?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. He'd never seen anyone finish a carrot like that...well except for Bugs and himself. "Depends. What are your intentions?"

Hermione looked cutely thoughtful. "Hmm... that is quite the quandary. I'm sure Uncle Wile, oh and before you say anything, yes, I know he's not really my uncle, but it's easier to call him that and he seems to prefer it. In any case, as I was saying, I think my Uncle would prefer it if I were to hunt you down  
>with the intent of eating you." She looked at her Uncle briefly and acknowledged his nod.<p>

"Eating me!" Harry exclaimed. He glanced at Bugs.

Bugs had a carrot in his mouth and was holding it like a cigar. "You'll moidah the bum... err... you'll moidah the dame!

Harry turned back to Hermione. "You? Eat me?"

Hermione leaned forward and gave his cheek a quick little lick. "Yes, I suspect you'd be quite tasty."

Harry's face flushed tomato red. "Yipe!" he yelped as Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry. "However..." she whispered into his ear, "I might be convinced to settle for friendly rivals for a few more of those lovely carrots."

Harry, following the Bugs Bunny School of wacky hijinks, kissed her full on the mouth. While she was distracted by the hearts in her eyes, and the steam shooting out from beneath her clothes, Harry slipped out of her embrace and slipped bag of potting soil in his place.

Never one to accept defeat, Harry offered, "How about we change that to best friends with a little friendly rivalry and I'll toss in a carrot every now and then?"

Having regained control of herself, Hermione dropped the bag of potting soil. "One carrot up front, best friends, occasional friendly rivals, and I still have the option to eat you if you get to annoying."

Harry pulled a carrot out of nowhere. He waved it back and forth and he could just make out the little carrots displayed in Hermione's eyes. She unconsciously licked her lips. "One carrot up front, best friends period but with a competitive streak, and you can try and eat me, but only if we're both in agreement. Deal?" He let the carrot rub against her bottom lip.

Naturally she tried to bite the crunchy, orange goodness. "It's against my better judgment, but..."

He tossed her the carrot.

"All right," she said as she practically inhaled the carrot. "Shake on it?" She extended a hand and they shook.

When she tried to withdraw her hand, a stick of dynamite was attached to Harry's fake hand. She tossed it to her uncle. "Here Uncle Wile. This looks like your specialty."

Wile yelped, grabbing the explosive and ran off into the distance.

-BOOM!-

Hermione winked at the boy. "Ain't I stinker?"

Bugs and Harry both burst out laughing.

Omake:

"I'm Harry Bunny." "And I'm Hermione Bunny."

"No Relation."

"Which is good." Harry grinned.

"Because we're shagging like a couple of bunny rabbits." Hermione said with a sultry smile."

Harry nodded and wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist.

Hermione grabbed his necktie and began pulling him off stage. "Come with me, buster. I'm feeling those bunny urges again."

Ron Duck just pouted.


	17. The Dealer

The Dealer

Prequel to "The Deal".

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: I couldn't help myself. It is unlikely most of you will like this as much as The Deal, but I can always hope. As always, I'm very interested to receive intelligent comments and criticism. Be sure to read the omake at the end.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The candles were lit and he had used his own blood to form the pentagram. He cast a quick healing spell and took a swallow from a vial of blood replenishing potion. This would work... it had to.

He knelt within the pentagram and lowered his eyes to the motionless figure laid out in front of him. There were bruises all over her body, sections of missing hair and bald patches where it had been torn from its roots, numerous cuts, and a hideous blue-black band around her delicate neck where it had been ruthlessly wrenched when she fought back against her attacker.

A black, quiet hatred rose up within him as he remembered the examination after he'd found her.

Numerous defensive wounds could be seen on her hands and forearms (her fingers were broken, as well as her right arm close to the wrist) and several fingernails were broken or missing from her attempt at gouging her attacker's eyes out.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that her killer had to have taken her by surprise but she had not gone down easily. It was of little comfort. She had promised she would come back to him and he would do everything in his power to help her keep her promise.

%%%%%%%%

The candles burned low and the molten wax made strange shapes as it flowed and hardened on the candelabra. Soon, they would burn out and darkness would encroach again into the room occupied by the dead and one who had no reason to go continue living.

He had failed... God help him.

"Yoo Hoo," said a voice.

Harry started to breathe hard. It was all so clear to him now. If Hermione couldn't come back to him, then he would go to her... and he would bring the rest of the world with him.

"Harry?" the voice asked again.

Green flames began to burn about his body and emerald light bathed the room in unholy brilliance. He would DESTROY. THEM. ALL. The flames flared brighter still.

*SMACK!*

Through the haze of black, all-consuming hatred, Harry felt someone slap the back of his head. The flames extinguished and the room returned to being dimly lit. He lifted his eyes from his pain, loss, and vengeance and his mouth opened in shock at what he saw.

There before him was a young, beautiful woman. Tousled black hair reaching just below her shoulders, an odd stylized mark around one eye, a silver cross*(sic) shaped necklace, black lace-up boots, and fingerless gloves made of leather. Her black attire seemed to match her perfectly. As far as he could tell, she was amused though slightly annoyed. It stabbed at his heart as the thought made him miss Hermione even more.

She quirked a soft smile. "Done brooding?" she asked in gentle voice.

Harry focused on her smiling face with skin as white as death, hair the color of darkest midnight, and eyes of deepest ebony. In short, she looked dark and menacing... well, she would have looked dark and menacing except for two things that completely destroyed that image in Harry's mind. First, she was smiling in a way that could only be called happy and warm. Second, she was wearing a large white T-shirt with the words, 'I \^^/ H/Hr' emblazoned on the front. The blackness of the rest of her clothing made the white shirt stand out even more.

That she was wearing a T-shirt was very unusual in and of itself, but it was the crimson colored heart in the middle that contrasted so vividly with what should have been his normal perception of her that resulted in him somehow not feeling afraid. In fact, he felt his anger flow from his body like water. He thought again of Hermione, and his very soul seemed to ache at the absence of her, explaining the concept of rebuses, their role in the Middle Ages and how a variation of it was apparently popular among modern day mundanes. Hoping he was reading it correctly, he found himself speaking it aloud as he read, "I Heart HHr".

She seemed pleased and by the sound of her voice, she sounded slightly embarrassed. "Oh, you were looking at my shirt. I thought you might be staring out my ankh." She paused for a moment to wink at him. "Anyway, it is a nice shirt isn't it?"

Harry still didn't know what to think. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. She made him feel... numb, like a shot of Novocain to deaden the pain. "It's nice."

The woman stood up and twirled around gracefully. She stood straight and looked down at him over her shoulder. "I especially like the back artwork."

Harry looked up and saw a stylized image of a boy with messy black hair and a girl with curly brown hair riding on the back of a flying Hippogriff. He was seeing himself and Hermione when they were younger riding Buckbeak! He looked happy and so did Hermione and her hands were around his younger self's waist. Despite the numb feeling, he could have sworn his heart broke even more and tears began to leak from his eyes despite his best efforts to stop them.

"Hey now... none of that. I mean, I know it's good but it's still nothing worth crying over."

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that I remember that night. It was one of the best nights of our lives. Sirius was saved, Hermione was safe, and we kissed for the first time by the lake under the full moon light." He looked away. "And now she's..." He trailed off.

Looking sad and understanding, she knelt down right beside him and draped an arm over his shoulders. "And now she's dead," she supplied.

Harry just closed his eyes again and his expression tightened.

"She loves you very much." The woman stated matter-of-factly.

Harry whipped his head around to look at her serene face. "What?"

"The dead never really leave us, Harry. You should know that better than anyone. Your mother and father did everything and more to protect you; not those fanciful, so-called blood wards Dumbledore was so in love with. But enough about the past, you called me here for a reason. What was it, Harry?" she prompted him.

Harry's gaze had become unfocused, lost in the past as he was, but her question brought him back into the now. "I called you?" He wondered uncertainly.

"You performed a completely wrong, made up summoning ritual once; one that was created by an insane wizard who spent 67 years using it to try and summon me – unsuccessfully, I might add, and through sheer willpower, devotion, and love, you did it on your first try. If that doesn't say something about your feelings for this young lady, then I don't know what does."

"You're Death!" He said in incredulous awe.

"Ooh, capital 'D'. Very respectful, but you can just call me Dee-Dee." She enthused.

"Dee-Dee?"

"Yes?" she prompted again. She rested her chin on her gloved hand and gazed expectantly at Harry.

"I have a request to make."

Death incarnate, also known as 'Dee-Dee', nodded her head a few times to indicate he should continue.

Deep breath and then he asked, "Can you bring Hermione back to life?"

"Yes." Again, Dee-Dee nodded her head.

"..." and the silence dragged on.

Harry tried again. "Will you bring Hermione back to life?"

An amused and happy smile graced Dee-Dee's pale but lovely face and Harry wondered why he didn't feel the least bit concerned that Death seemed to be smiling at his request. "Okay." She responded in good humor.

"That's it?" He asked cautiously.

Dee-Dee tilted her head. "Did you want it to be more difficult?"

"No, no! It's fine if it's easy, I just thought it was more difficult than this to get a loved one back from Death."

Dee-Dee paused at this. "_A_ loved one? Not the great love of your life for whom you would doom the world and sacrifice everything for?"

"I love her with all that I am, but..." And despite himself, doubts assailed him. So close to his goal, but the act of actually speaking with Death made him surprisingly candid. "I couldn't protect her, I love her and she still died. What's worse is that initially, I didn't believe her when she warned me Ron was up to something. What kind of man doesn't believe the woman he loves? If I had another chance, I would do so many things differently. As it is, I would die in her place if I could, but right now I don't think my life is worth enough to equal hers."

"Well, that just won't do."

Stricken, Harry asked, "What won't do?"

"As you are right now, bringing Hermione back to life won't change anything. With an attitude like yours, the same situation would just repeat itself and she'd be dead again in six months to a year. Keep in mind Harry, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity I'm giving you, so I don't want you to waste it."

"What do I have to do?" he asked, his resolve firming.

"I need a show of binding commitment between the two of you. Both of you need to do something to show your affection for one another AND you must demonstrate your resolve."

"A binding commitment?" he asked, clearly confused.

Eerily, Dee-Dee started to whistle while playing with an unadorned silver ring. She slid it off and on, off and on, several time. It took several repetitions of this before Harry thought he realized what she was hinting at.

Understanding was on Harry's face, but then doubt clouded over. "But, how can I-" he began, but Dee-Dee shook her finger at him. "In consideration of the good you've done, consider this an indefinite loan until you've satisfied all of my conditions."

Dee-Dee knelt down next to Hermione's cold body and ran a finger from the top of Hermione's head to the tip of her toes. As her finger passed, every mark signifying her brutal murder disappeared. When she was finished, Hermione's flesh was rosy pink and she looked just as alive and well, as the last time he had seen her before she'd... before she went away.

He felt his breath catch in his chest. Something still wasn't right, but he couldn't tell what it was. She looked exactly as he remembered her, then suddenly it hit him... she still wasn't breathing.

Harry whispered, "Hermione..."

Death moved to stand next to Harry. "Now it's your turn," she said with another wink.

Harry gazed down at Hermione's body. She looked gorgeous arrayed in front of her, but she was deathly still. He got down on his knees and took up her hand in his. She was warm and that comforted him as he took a deep breath.

A heartfelt apology came first. He tried as best as he could to express how much he missed her and how stupid he had been to disregard her warning. He promised to do better and swore he wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

Hermione took a shuddering, shallow breath.

Harry very nearly stopped breathing at the sight of her. Her body was warm and she was breathing shallow but regular breaths; however, her eyes were still closed.

Harry looked at Dee-Dee for guidance.

Death had moved to lean against the door frame. Oddly, she looked distracted and was looking off to the side while absently tapping her lips with a finger.

Once again, it took Harry several moments to realize what was being said or in this case not said.

He looked down at her rosy red lips; they looked very moist and exceedingly kissable. They parted ever so slightly and Harry could have sworn his own heart had begun to beat out of control. He struggled to retain his composure long enough to say what he needed to say. "Hermione, I've missed you more than I thought possible. I would move heaven and earth for you. I love you deeply, and I want us to be together always. Please come back to me."

Hermione's breast swelled and she breathed deeply, but her eyes still wouldn't open.

"You've never seen Sleeping Beauty, have you?" Dee-Dee said aloud.

"Umm... no... I don't think so." Harry answered cautiously.

Death looked un-amused "Ah, I thought not – something to be dealt with later. In any case, quick summary: Prince Charming awakens his Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. Now, hop to it."

Harry flushed red in the face, but his countenance grew determined. "Come back to me..." he said as he leaned forward and brought his lips to hers.

The instant his lips came in contact with Hermione's, her eyes flew wide and her arms wrapped around his head and neck. From those same parted lips darted her tongue and Harry's mouth opened to receive it. He was surprised but incredibly happy. She was back, she was here, she was... she was sucking the breath out of him!

She broke the kiss and Harry found himself gasping for breath. "Yes, I will marry you," she said as she also tried to catcher her breath.

"But I didn't propose yet!" replied Harry.

"I was could hear everything you said. You may not have said the exact words, but it was close enough and I learned a lot about reading between the lines from staying with Dee-Dee all this time."

He was shocked. Granted, he had received many shocks tonight, so by now he was almost used to them. "You were with Dee-Dee?"

Smiling, Hermione kissed his cheek. "She couldn't interfere earlier, but she made sure I didn't suffer too much. She's been a wonderful host. "

And then Dee-Dee was there. She wrapped her arms around the two and looked at each of them in turn. "Wow, you two are cute together." She looked at Harry and her ebon black eyes were twinkling but in a completely different way to Dumbledore's senility twinkle. "So, the love of your life has just come back from the dead for _YOU_, and she's agreed to _marry_ you. Isn't there something you need to ask her formally?" She winked once more at him.

"Hermione, with you gone it was like a piece of me was missing. I don't ever want to be parted from you again. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?" He held his breath.

"Harry..." she chided. "I already said 'yes', so there's no need to look so expectant. I came back from the dead to be with you. I mean, honestly." She kissed his nose impishly.

Harry wrapped her in the tightest hug he could muster.

Hermione returned the hug with as much gusto as she was able.

Dee-Dee cleared her throat. "Ahem, there is the little matter of you two showing your resolve to one another."

Now it was Hermione's turn to look confused. She'd heard that condition, but wasn't sure what it meant. Suddenly, she had a very, very interesting idea. She whispered it to Harry.

Harry's eyes shot up, but soon he was nodding his head and offering other suggestions.

Dee-Dee looked pleased with the two of them. Despite Hermione's nudity, she seemed perfectly happy to be cradled in her fiancé's arm while they discussed, debated, and planned.

Finally, they looked up at Death. Harry spoke first. "Dee-Dee, we owe you so much. We wasted a lot of time, but thanks to you we have another chance. I've promised Hermione that I will do right by her, listen more than once every full moon, and I've also sworn to make those responsible for Hermione's premature death pay for their crimes." He then turned to look at Hermione.

Hugging Harry tighter, Hermione continued, "We are going to get married and I've promised Harry that we will make it work, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death and even after. I've also sworn to make sure the people who made Harry's life Hell, while growing up, will pay for their crimes.

Death seemed impressed. "Very good, though that's a funny way to show your appreciation."

The two young people looked confused. Hermione spoke first, "I thought we had to show our resolve?"

Dee-Dee waved it off. "And you've done it nicely. Although, you do realize that as everyone you've mentioned doesn't follow any sort of organized religion that I'll have to handle their cases personally once you've finished with them?"

Both Hermione and Harry looked embarrassed. They hadn't considered that.

Dee-Dee just smiled at them. "Hey now, don't worry about it. It's what I do. I will say that since you've chosen to do this to show your resolve, I expect you each to carry out your oaths personally. For instance, if Hermione killed Ronald instead of you then that would be justice and not vengeance. Understand, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

Dee-Dee looked at Hermione, "The same goes for you Hermione. If Harry killed Vernon instead of you, then it isn't vengeance but justice."

Hermione nodded.

Dee-Dee clapped her hands together. "Well kids, it's been wonderful spending time with you." She hugged them both tightly and then turned and headed for the doorway. Almost absently, she called back, "I'll consider Hermione's soul on loan to the land of the living for as long as you live Harry Potter. So take care of her and, for her sake, take care of yourself. Oh, and as for the oaths you two made, I hope you both make me very busy within in the next year or two." And then she was gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

End (for now)

A/N: Continues on into The Deal. *Yes, Dee-Dee is a creation of Neil Gaiman and a character of DC. The picture described on the shirt is a reference to a piece of artwork by the talented Gwendy, a renowned Harmony artist. I have a mug with the same picture.

OMAKE:

Harry pulled Hermione into an almost bone-crushing hug. "Thank god!"

"Who?" queried a voice.

Both Harry and Hermione jumped in surprise and then rapidly spun to see Dee-Dee smiling crookedly at them.

"Sorry about that. I forgot one very important thing." She put her hand to her mouth and cleared her throat with a brief cough. "Ahem. If you name any of your children Albus Severus or Hugo, then all bets are off." She smiled prettily at Hermione.

Hermione, despite her recent good feelings toward Dee-Dee, inexplicably felt as if she were a small fish and Dee-Dee was a great white shark. "Noted," she squeaked.

Harry cut in. "How do you feel about flower and mythology based names?"

Dee-Dee turned the smile toward Harry. "Love them to DEATH. Why?"

Harry's eye twitched. "No reason... just checking."

Dee-Dee rubbed her hands together. "Excellent. Now that's all taken care of, I bid you both adieu."

They blinked and she was gone.


	18. A Real Keeper

A Real Keeper

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N:

_Alt. timeline. Assume Voldy snuffed it at the end of Fourth year and that Dumbledore, due to his injuries, has retired from the world at large. Confidentially, it might have had to do with his fanatical ravings that someone named Tom Riddle would return from beyond the grave and destroy the Magical World. Yes, here it is a load of tosh._

_Umbitch isn't teaching (though this is set in Fifth year) because she was involved with Voldy's premature bid for power at the end of Fourth year. As I understand it, the Dementors refuse to actually consume her soul. They extract it, drain it a bit, and then let it return to her haggard body. Then they do it again and again and again... _

XXXXXXXX

"I'll be playing for the Slytherin match, Herms." Ron declared loudly as he buzzed about through the air.

He added a poorly executed loop which he thought was awe inspiring but Hermione thought it looked more like he lost control of his broom.

"Lucky break the first stringer caught a case of Dragon Pox," he chortled.

Angelina palmed her face as she considered how abysmal Ron's keeping had been lately.

"You're not doing anything important, right? 'Course you're not, just studying, innit? Then you can give me a hand with my practice. Harry and Angelina are doing seeker drills and I want you to make some shots at the goal for me."

"I don't play Quidditch, Ron. I'm a Quidditch spectator, not a player.

"Come ON, 'ermione. Just because you can barely stay on a broom doesn't mean you can't do something useful and help me practice.

"There's NO WAY I would get on a broom just to help YOU practice Quidditch." She went back to watching Harry's Seeker practice.

Two minutes later, Harry and Angelina Johnson dropped down into the bleachers where Hermione was sitting. Hermione immediately stood up and moved closer to Harry. "Done already? That was quick."

Harry smiled at her. She was right. They were ending early, but Angelina was the only one left on the team who was really qualified to put him through his paces. Spotting the snitch was one thing, but competing against another skilled flyer to catch it was what made the difference between a mediocre seeker and a great seeker. Angelina had spared him all the time she could, but it was her NEWT year and she was behind. "Angelina has her NEWTs to prepare for. I can't in good conscience ask for anymore of her time. Her test scores are important."

Hermione smiled in approval. That was exactly the sort of work ethic she had been trying to instill in him for years. She was immensely proud and gratified the she had finally succeeded. Then Harry let the other shoe drop.

"Nobody else on the team is capable enough on a broom to help me practice. I was wondering if you might be willing to fill in for Angelina. Sort of a mid-game substitution."

"Me? Square off against you as a seeker? Do I need to remind you how little I enjoyed flying about on a broom back in first year?"

Harry had been expecting that response. "Do I need to remind you of the number of times you asked me for flying lessons back in third year or the number of times we practiced out-running a dragon in fourth year?"

Ron had noticed their conversation and had flown close enough to make out most of what they were saying. "You took lessons from Harry! You told me you were scared of heights when I offered to teach you!" Ron was angry at the perceived sleight.

Annoyance in her voice, he cheeks flushing angrily red, she responded, "No, I said I was scared of falling off of those rickety school brooms when you asked."

Not one to back down, Ron continued. "How could you ask Harry for flying lessons when you turned me down!?"

"Harry's a better flyer than you."

"Is not."

"Is so."

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Is not times 10!"

"Is so times infinity!

Ron didn't know how to respond to that. He'd never gotten this far in any of his arguments with Ginny before Mum made them stop arguing. Besides, he wasn't sure what 'finny tea' had to do with anything.

Sensing victory, Hermione moved in the for the kill. "Plus Harry had his own broom. At the very least, barring death eater hijinx, I was certain it wouldn't fall out from under me. Add on top of that the fact that he was the youngest seeker in a century and on the House Quidditch team and it makes perfect sense that I asked him to teach me."

"But-"

"But nothing. Why are you so fixated on the fact that I asked Harry to teach me how to fly better?"

Ron's eyes darkened as his eyelids narrowed. Harry could have almost sworn he heard Ron's teeth grinding together. "If you don't want my help, then you can just go off and rot," the redhead barked as he turned to fly off.

Hermione, not in a mood to let Ron get the last word in, yelled after him. "I DON'T want your help. From what I can tell, you can barely handle your own broom, let alone teach me."

Ron's face flamed an even more intense shade of red. He looked toward Harry and Angelina expecting some team solidarity; none was forthcoming. "Fine, you bunch of traitors, then you all can go rot. I'm leaving!" Ron raced away in a huff.

Angelina palmed her face. "Great. Just great. Now I'm out my backup keeper. With my first string keeper still laid up with Dragon Pox, what am I going to do?" She looked at Hermione.

"What are you looking at me for?"

Harry was looking at Hermione as well.

"Harry, I… Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. I am not playing as your keeper."

"It's just for one game. Plus, I know you can fly. You were brilliant back in forth year."

"That's because you were there and because you lent me your broom. I've never flown so well since then."

"Have you flown at all since then?" Harry asked knowingly.

Hermione had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Well, no, but-"

"See! I told you she could do it," Harry enthused.

"Excuse me if I don't quite share your enthusiasm. I believed you when you said she could make an adequate spare seeker, but a keeper?"

"Trust me, Angelina. She'll be a natural. All she has to do is basically keep her broom in front of the goals. They aren't even that high. Add a few really strong cushioning charms to the area beneath the goals and she'll be as steady as Wood ever was."

"I'll have you know that I haven't agreed to any of this," Hermione crisply reminded.

"YOU just lost me my keeper. I think that makes it your responsibility. I'm sure Professor McGonagall would agree."

"Professor McGongall?"

"Yes, our head of house. She's been quite vociferous about winning the cup this year."

Hermione gulped and fidgeted slightly as she considered what might happen to her if the Gryffindor team had to forfeit the upcoming match.

Harry put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "I'll train her. Wood and I worked together a lot whenever he practiced and none of the regular chasers where around."

"See that you do a good job, Potter. We have some extra gear in the locker room. Get her kitted out while I hit the books. Remember, you're my deputy. If things aren't ship shape by next practice, I'll hang you by your toes WITHOUT magic. Clear?"

"Crystal," Harry replied. He just barely refrained from snapping off a smart salute.

Hermione couldn't believe this was happening. In the space of not even 20 minutes, she'd gone from a spectator to a player."

"Come on, 'Mione. You heard the captain. Let's get you kitted out first and then we can try some drills."

Still in shock, Hermione barely registered Harry had situated her on his broomstick until he kicked up off the ground. Instinct took over and she gave a little 'eek' and then clutched him tightly.

%%%%%%%

"Sorry that there aren't any jerseys in your size Hermione. We can get you one in your size and with your name on the back by game day, I'm almost sure."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Harry. The chances of me actually playing are-"

"-Pretty good, actually. Ron's in a royal snit now and he wasn't doing very well to begin with. That's why he's the second string rather than the first. He's got some talent, but he's pants at keeping most of the time. Our first string keeper is definitely out of the game for another 3 or 4 weeks, so I don't think you can count on him. Really, you're our only hope."

"I just can see how that can be. Seamus or Dean must be better players."

"If you mean better beaters than you, then yes, I agree. But I've seen them playing pickup Quidditch. They're awful in comparison. I've seen you on a broom, Hermione. I know you can do this."

Hermione face took on a softer cast. "You know I hate to disappoint you, Harry, but-"

But Hermione never got a chance to finish her thought. Harry, who had been rooting around a cupboard, had stood up with a yell of triumph. "AHA! Found it. I thought I had my old Jerseys around here somewhere."

"Old jerseys?"

"Yup. I figured since we didn't have any in your size, then one of my old ones might fit you. That is, if that's alright with you?"

She gazed at the smaller jersey being held lightly in his hands. It was still in good condition. It looked as if had just been made yesterday. Harry certainly knew how to take good care of his clothing; a valuable skills when the only Muggle clothes you get are second hand. The name Potter shone gold against the Gryffindor crimson.

She reached out to take it into her hands.

Harry smiled. I think that one should fit you. "I still have all my old Jerseys. The rest of the team gave them out as souvenirs to fans, but I'd had enough of the fangirls from the whole BWL thing. Here, try it on."

She had a powerful urge to do just that. _But wait, all?_ She wondered. "Harry, did you just say you have _all _your old jerseys?

"Yeah, except for the one you're currently holding. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. _But this does lead me to question everything else Ginny has ever told me. 'a gift from Harry', my foot!_

XXXXXXXXXXX

Omake:

"Is not times 10!"

"Is so times **11**!"

"IS no-wait, what!?"

IS so times infinity! So there!


	19. To Serve Wizards

To Serve Wizards

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. This is loosely based on the short story by Damon Knight, the Twilight Zone adaption, and the Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode.

A/N: Just a little something for Halloween.

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Ron, despite what many people might think to the contrary, is a thinking, feeling, human being... actually no, I'm lying. We only suspect he thinks because he is somehow able to play chess and Quidditch, but Crabbe and Goyle are also capable of those things and their brains have been on strike since Draco decided he wanted henches just like his father. As for the human being part... well, he's vaguely human shaped, but so are dementors. At the moment, it's only supposition that he has a soul, so we'll mark that down as indeterminate. Last and also least is his ability to feel. He actually CAN do that, so... I suppose one out of three ain't bad.

The reason his ability to feel is important is because at this very moment, he's feeling something. We're not quite sure what, but we've narrowed it down through careful observation to one of two things. Either he's lonely or he's hungry or quite possibly some variation of the two.

What makes this both interesting as well as important is the fact that his two best friends, who also happen to be his only friends, are mad at him. If we're brutally honest, then it's entirely likely that it's his own fault that his friends are angry with him. Consequently, it's quite possible that because of that, he's lonely. After all, that's how a human being would act if his two friends acted pig-headed and refused to talk to him-wait, that's not how it happened at all! In actual fact, Ron decided not to speak to Harry and Hermione wouldn't abandon Harry, so she sacrificed Ron instead. Yes, after careful consideration, Ron is the one who is completely and utterly at fault, so don't feel too sorry for him that he is quite possibly lonely because that's how a human being would act and as I've already mentioned that determination is still indeterminate.

Right. Moving on. Ron, who may very well be lonely, is eavesdropping on his two best friends, who are at this moment not friends with him.

"An acromantula dinner party?"

"Yeah, I heard all about it from Hagrid."

Hermione's blink was very nearly audible. "How does that work?"

"I wondered that myself. Apparently, those murderous, gigantic spiders have taken it into their heads to serve wizards. Something to do with dementors."

"How droll," was Hermione's deadpan reply.

"Yeah, isn't it, though? Hagrid invited the three of us out to attend the next one. It's tonight and even though Hagrid can't make it, he was sure we'd be welcomed because the three of us are good friends of his."

An odd look crossed Hermione's face. "Oh?"

"I didn't have the heart to tell him that Ron was being a colossal git and that he wouldn't even talk with us."

Ron's cheek twitched as he bit down hard on his tongue to restrain the string of abuse words his body wanted to produce.

"Well, no great loss I suppose."

"I'll give Hagrid our regrets, then?"

"Of course, unless you actually want to be served by colossal spiders." She patted his cheek. "In any case, we still have a lot of prep work to do, so I'm sure Hagrid will understand."

"I suppose you're right." Harry said conversationally as his arm found itself wrapped around Hermione's hips.

"Much better."

"Yeah, isn't it, though?"

Hermione's smirk was very nearly audible.

"Hermione?" Her boyfriend asked.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Think we should tell Ron about the invitation?"

Hermione looked at Harry askance for a second. "Seriously?"

Harry nodded.

Hermione let out a sigh. "After all the shite he's pulled, he's lucky we're even considering it at all." She gnawed lightly on her lower lip. "I think... we should just forget about it. If we told him then it would just lead to another fight there would be no reason for it. Ron is scared even more witless than normal by even normal sized spiders. Imagine how he'd react to acromantulas."

Harry chuckled darkly. "Imagine? I don't need to imagine. I was there in Second Year when you were petrified. Thanks again for leaving me a clue, by the way."

Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek. "You are QUITE welcome. Can't have you dying on me before we have a chance to get married. And even after that, I expect you to keep me busy saving your cute arse for decades to come."

Harry pulled Hermione in a tight embrace. "Together. And that's a promise, Miss Granger."

Hermione held him tight. "And you NEVER break promises, do you?"

"Not any of the important ones, anyway." He assured her as he kissed her on the cheek and then began walk down the corridor hand in hand with Hermione.

While they were still in earshot, Ron could just make out Hermione saying, "-sides, spiders serving wizards-disgusting..."

Ron snorted derisively. If he'd had any doubts as to whether the Herms he knew had been replaced by an imposter, now he was certain. It was the real Hermione Granger who had said that. He'd just seen her S.P.E.W. side come out. Well, if Miss 'acromantulas are living creatures too and should be respected' blah, blah, 'and bloody huge spiders shouldn't be made to serve wizards', then she'd have a surprise coming to her. _Honestly, that's the first decent thing a spider's ever done. Like hell I'm going to miss a change to be served properly by huge and absolutely terrifying spiders._ He resolved.

Okay, well that answers the question. Not lonely... merely hungry.

Resolving to look through his dress robes for something nice to wear to tonight's dinner party, Ron considered bringing a gift for his hosts. He vaguely wondered what giant, hideous spiders liked to eat. By chance it was at that exact moment that he spotted Missus Norris walking down the corridor with her tail held high. He was struck by a terrible idea. That is, an awful, terrible, dreadful idea. He wondered if the eight-legged abominations would care for a bit of ginger... ginger cat, that is.

Ron clutched his wand partially hidden by his robes. "Stupefy!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

End Note: If you don't find the humor in this, then look up the different meanings of the word 'serve'.


	20. The Needs of the Two

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

Special Thanks: Special thanks to RalphS for the title suggestion and general help. Also, many thanks to other members of Seel'vor's group who contributed possible name ideas.

A/N: As Harmony writers, we are always exploring different reasons why things turned out so utterly wrong and incomprehensible in Canon. While considering this, I suddenly wondered 'What if it was simply because Harry literally couldn't see what (or who) was right in front of him?" This short evolved from that. Also, it is very common (I'm guilty as well) to overuse the whole 'Hermione nibbled on her lip in indecision' convention. As is my want, I wanted to have some fun with that as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione looked at Harry who was trying to appear studiously busy. She wasn't fooled. After all, he'd never been able to fool her before and she didn't think it likely he would suddenly be able to now. Even his invisibility cloak was useless against her ever since she'd realized he needed her. At that moment, the invisibility cloak became more of a partial invisibility cloak to her eyes. She'd been so surprised that she'd found it necessary to surreptitiously check and make sure no one else was seeing what she could suddenly always spot.

Harry's eyes flicked up to glance at Hermione's face for a split second before returning to his textbook. He hadn't flipped a page in over 30 minutes.

_He did it again…_ the teenage, though highly advanced for her age, witch mentally noted. She nibbled her lip. She did that quite often. So often, in fact, that she was certain other people, aside from her best friends, had begun to notice. Fortunately for Hermione, it was highly probable that no one actually knew the true reason she frequently nibbled on her lower lip. It wasn't, as most would assume, a sign of nervousness; nor was it a sign of contemplation or indecision. In actual fact, it was a conscious effort on her part to prevent her lips from seeking out Harry Potter.

She'd always felt a connection to Harry, which is why she'd agreed to the help Neville look for his missing toad, Trevor, so she would have an excuse to explore the train. It worked and she, for the first time, felt the strange drawing sensation that made her lips tingle and tug at the rest of her. She'd found that nibbling on her lower lip made the feeling manageable, but only just. Fortunately, when they'd first met it hadn't been a constant distraction like it was quickly becoming.

Every time he saved her, the feeling and duration of the sensation became stronger. The incident with the troll sprang to mind, but that wasn't the only time. When he saved the entire school from the basilisk with information he'd gotten from her, she couldn't help herself after she'd been un-petrified. She absolutely couldn't resist the pull to throw herself in his arms and bask in his embrace. She'd narrowly avoided attaching her face to his by only the smallest of margins. Part of her wished she'd given in to the urge.

Harry licked his lips as if they were dry.

_They weren't dry. I know they weren't because I've been watching them for the past 45 minutes._ _Why would he feel the need to lick his lips if they weren't dry? _Hermione pondered. He's been doing that more and more frequently, at least that was what she had observed._ I hope it isn't a medical problem. He dislikes going to Madame Pomfrey if it can at all be avoided_, she thought with slight disapproval.

Other than chewing on her lip, studying or reviewing was the next best thing for suppressing Hermione's increasingly maddening urges. Even now, she was diligently concentrating on her studies in an effort to maintain control. Studying didn't work quite as well as lip chewing since it required almost all of her focus to be truly effective, but she couldn't spend all her time chewing on her bottom lip, because despite being magically more damage resistant, even her lip could be chewed too much. That was one of the reasons she'd been so impatient to have her front teeth shrunken. At full size, her lips got quite sore in almost no time.

Harry stood up from his seat and closed his evidently useless book – he hadn't turned a page in nearly 50 minutes.

_I wonder what he's going to do now? Toilet break perhaps?_ Hermione posited.

Harry took a step toward her and he licked his lips.

_Again with the lip licking. I should consult some healing texts the next chance I get. _ She bit her lip as the urge surged within her. _Settle down you incomprehensible compulsion. Harry's not interested in me. If he was, then I'd know. And since he's not, I'm not going to act like that little tart Ginny and throw myself at him._

Harry was getting closer.

"Harry, is there a problem?"

"You could say that."

Hermione narrowed her brow. Harry had a look in his eyes that she had only ever seen fleetingly. She was uncertain what it meant and being uncertain about anything regarding Harry was extremely vexing for her. She prided herself on being the world's greatest authority on everything to do with the teen wizard. "Can I help?"

"I think so." He seated himself both comfortably and uncomfortably close to her, depending on how you look at it.

"If I can help you, then of course, I will."

Harry still had that look in his eyes. "Anything?"

Hermione was a little surprised he had to ask. She nibbled harder on her lip and nodded her head.

Harry licked his lips. "Excellent," he murmured.

Hermione was about to tilt her head in polite confusion when Harry leaned over and fulfilled a desire she'd had ever since she'd met him.

After several minutes of pure bliss and happiness, Hermione had discovered that nibbling on Harry's lips did nothing to even blunt her urges – but it had been extraordinarily exhilarating and fun to try. It actually had the opposite effect.

Likewise, Harry had discovered that licking Hermione's lips did nothing to diminish his desire to taste her lips in the least. In fact, he also found the experiment extraordinarily exhilarating and fun to try.

Finally separating bodily from one another, much to the protestation of various body parts, Hermione just had to ask, "Not that I'm complaining, not in the least let me assure you, but why now?"

Harry was smiling as he now found a gorgeous female witch sitting quite comfortably in his lap and his arms were around her. "I'd always felt this pull, but I didn't understand what it meant. I got an idea that it had something to do with you back in fourth year, but I didn't know what I should do about it. Honestly, no frame of reference whatsoever. At least, until now."

Hermione looked intrigued. Also, her arms were draped around his shoulders and neck. One hand was playing with his hair. "And what changed?"

"Notice anything different about my face?"

"No… nothing–except for the new pair of eyeglasses. I don't know how I missed that."

Harry reached up and tapped the frames with a finger. "New prescription lenses. For the first time in my life I could see your face clearly. Before I came here, I spent most of the day getting reacquainted with what the castle looks like when it isn't blurry. I never knew how homely Ron actually looks, nor did I realize how ferret-like Draco actually is."

"Makes sense, I suppose. So, does this mean you spent the last 50 minutes deciding whether to kiss me?"

"Oh no, not at all. I knew as soon as I saw you clearly that I wanted to kiss you. I just needed some time to figure out if you would curse me for it or kiss me back."

"And it took you fifty minutes to decide to give it a go?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not. I hadn't actually decided at that point, but when you started gnawing on your lip again, well I just couldn't help myself. My legs were in motion before I could stop myself. It was like my lips were drawn to yours. I mean, I always feel that way when I'm around you, but this was the first time I wasn't able to hold myself back."

"I wish you'd gotten new glasses ages ago…" groaned the young lady as she snuggled into his embrace.

"Madame Pomfrey didn't know I needed them until she saw me walk right into something. She said she normally doesn't do eye magic in the very young unless absolutely necessary. The very young and the very old, according to her, require the utmost delicate care when it comes to magic involving the eyes. Something about windows to the soul and some other things I wish you'd been around to hear. Fortunately, I'm no longer of an age that would be considered very young. She checked my eyes as thoroughly as she was able and decided I needed new glasses. How do you like them?"

Gazing at and through his new glasses, Hermione's gaze was drawn to Harry's emerald green eyes. "They're brilliant!" she exclaimed.

"Takes one to know one." Harry said with a lopsided grin.

"That was terrible," she said while chuckling at his antics. She lightly slapped him on the chest. "You must be punished."

"Yes, please!"

And she did.

They were both very pleased by it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	21. Neville and Harry

Neville and Harry

A/N: This is what you get when I watch too much Phineas and Ferb. I apologize for the terrible renditions of a Scottish accent and a French accent.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Characterizations of Hedwig are based on Rorschach's Blot's writings.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Harry, I know what we're gonna do today."

Harry gave Neville a thumbs up.

Neville gained a slightly shifty appearance. "Want to ask it today?"

Harry smiled and cleared his throat. "Where's Hedwig?"

%%%%%

In a secret lair underneath Longbottom Manor, lights flashed on illuminating the secret lair of Agent O aka. Mother Owl aka. Hedwig Potter. She landed silently with voluminous wings on a specially designed perch. Absently snatching a large fat rat missing several fingers in her powerful beak, she snapped its neck and then tossed it high in the air only to swallow it whole (magic!).

"Well doon, lassie! Aye canna remember ever witnessin' such a sight before. Boot, let's get down ta business. The target's a rat ah-ni-maagus and-" But Agent O interrupted.

Pointing at her stomach with her wing, Agent O fluffed her feathers and somehow looked very smug.

"Ahh... Aye see. Gu-reat job, Agent O. On toppa things as usual. That'll be all, then."

"Prek!"

%%%%%

Hermione pushed open the gate to Longbottom Manor's back garden. "Whatcha doin'?" she asked.

Neville winked at Harry before hurrying off to make some additional adjustments. Harry smiled at Hermione. At that very moment she could have sworn she felt little, pink heart bubbles popping all around her face. If she'd had a mirror, she would have seen that there were additional miniature hearts in her eyes. Transparent ones otherwise she'd be blind, but hearts nonetheless. Moving closer to the object of her affection, she added, "Or to be more grammatically correct. What are you doing?"

Harry's smile turned into a grin. "We're building a machine to attract Veela."

Hermione's little floating hearts crumbled and turned to dust only to be blown away by a convenient gust of wind.

Seeing the crestfallen look on Hermione's face, Harry dropped what he was doing, raced to her and wrapped his arms around her. "Hermione, dear sweet Hermione... don't look so sad. Believe it or not, Xelan's writing this. So, even though Phineas was woefully unaware of Isabella's feelings for him, in this story, we're definitely supposed to be together!" And Harry kissed Hermione thoroughly enough to make her toes curl.

"Boyfriend patch, check!" she mumbled after the kiss ended. With a dazed but happy smile, Hermione asked, "So... why the Veela attractor?"

Harry shrugged. "Never been done before and Neville's always wanted to meet a Veela."

Neville shouted from around the machine, "Yeah and I wouldn't turn down at date with one either!"

Harry and Hermione chuckled and they squeezed each other tight. Harry called over absently, "You done yet, Neville?"

"Ready as she'll ever be! Ready for a test run?" he shouted back.

"Ready!" answered Harry. He looked to his girlfriend and she gave him a nod. "All right, flip the switch!" He called out.

-Flip-

The machine began to hum loudly for a moment and then seemed to just shut down.

"Huh? Blew fuse maybe?" Hermione asked Harry.

Harry was watching Neville as he stood around looking confused at their invention's apparent failure. "No, I don't think so," Harry answered Hermione with a calculating look in his eyes.

-Tap-

Neville turned around to stare at a vision of blonde loveliness.

"Excusez-moi. I am look-ing for a position as ze' Governess or as ze' Au Pair. Are zere any openings at zis' Manor?" Inquired Fleur Delacour of Neville Longbottom.

Neville fainted.

%%%%%%%

From a second story window in the neighboring manor house, an old biddy in a hideous pink cardigan croaked-err-_called out _loudly from behind her binoculars. "M.o.M.! Oh, M.o.M.! They're at it again! Longbottom and Potter are doing something that blatantly violates the reasonable restriction of underage magic!"

"Dolores, if I've told you once, then I've told you a thousand times, don't call me M.o.M.. My name is Cornelius, and while I am the Minister of Magic and my title can be abbreviated as M.o.M., you shouldn't use it as a form of direct address. It's rude."

Dolores had hopped-err-run into the Cornelius' room and grabbed hold of the elderly man. "No time for that now, M.o.M., there's busting to be done!" She dragged the minister over to the window. "See! See! I told you I'm not crazy. I told you!"

The annoyed man straightened his bowler hat and peered down into the yard. "And what, pray tell, do you believe is down there that proves you aren't crazy?"

"What!?" she exclaimed. Even Cornelius was hard pressed to think of it having come out as anything other than a perfect imitation of the croak of a disgruntled toad. Shaking in anger, Dolores proclaimed, "It's as plain as the warts on my nose; that strange contraption down there in the Longbottom's back garden." She pointed hysterically.

Cornelius raised an eyebrow. "That? My dear slag, that 'strange contraption', as you put it, is what Muggles refer to as a lawn umbrella." He said in a pitying tone.

"A WHAT!?" she demanded.

"Come now, I can't imagine you aren't aware of such things. I mean, I know you're a mediocre witch at best, but it's similar in concept to an umbrella except for the blocking of sunlight instead of rain."

"I KNOW what an umbrella is. That ISN'T an umbrella!" Dolores declared.

Cornelius borrowed Dolores' binoculars, inadvertently choking Dolores with the strap and took a closer look at the purported NOT umbrella. "No, no. It is most definitely an umbrella. It's circular as well as concave. Look how it also casts a large circular shadow underneath."

"Grrk..."

"What was that, Dolores?"

"Grrk..."

"Oh, do speak up, you're mumbling again. And speaking of mumbling, that is also intolerably rude. Hmm… most definitely an umbrella. See for yourself." The bumbling man handed her back her binoculars.

"A-air..." She wheezed.

"Did you say something, Dolores?"

-Wheeze- -Cough-

"Toad-I mean-frog in your throat?"

"Minister... if that THING is an umbrella, than how do you explain all the buttons and knobs located at the base. Also, I could swear an oath to you that the so-called umbrella was moving and humming loudly. Explain that!"

Cornelius' eyes narrowed. "I will thank you to remember your place, UNDER-secretary." His lips twitched a bit as he contemplated what to say next. "In addition, while I know you despise Muggles, Harry Potter is a half-blood and grew up with them. I'm sure that's just some sort of very fancy, Muggle lawn umbrella. And another thing, at this moment, Potter is a valuable commodity and I won't have you making up baseless allegations. I don't have to remind you that all the young people vote the way he does. Either finally find me some proof to your allegations, or kindly shut it."

Dolores' pale, pasty face turned reddish pink in anger.

Leaning out the window, Cornelius called, "Potter, Longbottom, Granger, and your blonde, stunningly gorgeous friend out there, please come over for some snacks if you have the time. I always enjoy spending time with the voting public!" He waved to them and then went inside to talk to his house elf about preparing some refreshments.

Dolores leaned out of the window to glare at the four young people in the adjacent yard.

-Splat!-

A half-digested rat had landed on the enraged woman.

Hedwig flew down to her human, and despite having a beak, she looked particularly pleased with herself.

%%%%%%

"Oh, there you are, Hedwig. You're just in time for snacks."

"Prek!"


	22. Spells

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Once, I had a thought to create a Harry/Hermione story modeled after the television series Bones. Nothing ever came of it except a few ideas. However, Katdemon1895 posted a Valentine's Day story (or as I think of it, Singles Awareness Day) and I suddenly had a strong desire to write SOMETHING.

A/N2: If you find any redeeming qualities whatsoever, then thank Katdemon1895. If you don't, then you can blame me.

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"No, I refuse to compromise my research on the connection between the wards of the surviving Babylonian Ziggurats and Aztec Pyramids any further."

"Still trying to tie their magic geometry manipulation and binding methodology to your pet theory about Atlantis being involved?"

"It's not a pet theory. I am _this_ close to it being relabeled a legitimate theory by the Forensic Thaumatology Board." She positioned her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

"Ah, but until you get enough support, it's still just a wild eyed, cracked-cauldron theory, isn't it?"

"Hmph! All I need is to get six more people to see things my way and I'll be certain to win the Flamel Award this year."

"Six, as in every other forensic thaumatologist in the world?"

"Six, as in one short of a Quidditch team. The fact that there are only 7 forensic thaumatologists in the world is neither here nor there."

"Quidditch, eh? You're more devoted to this job than everyone else on the team combined and yet every once in a while, you make a comment that reminds me there's more to you than just a pretty spell researcher."

"Hmph! I should think so. And I'm not just SOME spell researcher. I'm a pioneer in the field of forensics and thaumatology. With a simple glance, I can determine the spell, a rough estimate of the level of magical power used, and an approximate for the cast distance."

"What about wand type? I know you've provided wand type information to the DMLE before."

"Wand typing to any useful degree of accuracy requires exacting measurements and in depth examinations."

"But what about—"

"—unless you happen to be Ollivander."

"Well, that answers that question." He said sardonically.

Under her breath, Hermione mumbled, "Batty old immortal busybody. No respect for the scientific method whatsoever."

Not knowing to quit while he was ahead, he decided to press his luck. "So, while we're on the subject of Quidditch and how pretty you are, how about you and I go watch the Appleby Arrows take on Puddlemere United this Saturday?"

Not really paying attention, Hermione pursed her lips for a moment and then nodded. "All right, that sounds pleasant…" She trailed off while he internally leapt about and did cartwheels in his elation.

But it was not to be.

Hermione finished her thought. "My boyfriend and I are both Puddlemere fans. He played Quidditch in school, you know. How many others are going?"

"B-boyfriend!?" The aghast man couldn't help but sputter. "We've worked together for how many years now and I've never heard you mention anything about a boyfriend!"

This finally caught her attention. ".935 years. And I've really never spoken about my boyfriend? Really? That seems odd. Perhaps we should have ourselves checked over in the infirmary."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, I can't imagine not _ever_ mentioning my boyfriend at _least_ once. So, either I'm suffering from spell damage and thereby didn't mention him OR you're suffering from spell damage and can't hear properly or possibly can't remember properly, or both."

Thinking of the harpy that managed the infirmary, he decided discretion was the better part of valor. "No, that's perfectly alright. I'm certain I must have not been paying enough attention…" He said while mentally finishing the thought. –_While I stared longingly at your magnificent arse._

"Oh, well, if you're certain then."

"One hundred and ten percent certain."

"It only goes up to one hundred percent. Any higher is an affectation and we DON'T do that here. Here, we are scientists, first and foremost. Remember that please."

"Yes, Madame Granger."

"Now, back to the subject at hand. I'm afraid I cannot possibly devote enough of my precious time to assist the DMLE anymore than I am currently obligated. Please tell them they have my sincerest apologies and then send them on their way."

"Tell them yourself. They sent a Special Auror to talk with you personally and he's been waiting in your office all this time."

This caused Hermione to turn around and glare at him. "They WHAT!?" She asked, her voice approaching a shrill register. "I've got sensitive data in my office, in-progress experiments, and classified material. What genius gave permission for this busybody to enter into my private office?" She demanded.

Utterly non-plussed at her rage, he was quite used to her passionate outbursts. He thought they made her seem hot. "You did."

"What?" she asked, clearly confused.

"He showed up with parchmentwork explaining why he had come and then walked straight to your office."

"And you didn't try to stop him?"

"Oh we tried; Hannah was most distressed at six unconscious guards appearing in the infirmary after they tried to restrain the man. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, lifting her safety goggles up at the same time. "I was busy. So then what happened? I suppose it didn't matter that my office is unplottable and warded?"

"He strolled directly to the door as if he'd known where it was all along, and when I tried to bureaucratically stop him, he displayed his Special Auror credentials and a signed authorization parchment granting him unlimited access to your office."

"This is outrageous! This is horrendous! This is not to be tolerated! How dare Lupin authorize him to have unlimited access to my office? This is so far beyond the pale that I—" but she didn't get to finish.

"Mister Lupin didn't authorize his access. It was your signature plain as day."

"—I… wait, what?"

"Oh yes, your handwriting as neat as could be. He even let me check the spell signature. It was authentic. He passed through the door and well, you've never given ME access to your office, so there was very little I could do after that…" He dangled his hidden request for access.

"My signature?" she asked; her voice slightly distant as a very real possibility suddenly occurred to her.

"Undoubtedly."

"I must have a word with this _Special Auror" _she stated. Now fully back in the present, she stalked off toward her office.

Pausing at the door, he moved to follow her into the secret sanctum sanctorum of Hermione 'Spells' Granger.

The wards had other ideas. The instant he tried to cross the threshold, something like green lighting coursed through his body. He was bodily flung backwards.

Not even bothering to look back, Hermione off-handedly mentioned, "Do mind the wards, Draco. Repeated attempts will escalate them to maiming."

A charred, heap of a wizard lay crumpled on the floor. "I'll just stay here then, shall I?" He stayed there until around midnight when the house elves discovered him and carted him off the incinerator. Fortunately, the incinerator was only run on alternate Tuesdays so he survived, though he was none too pleasant to be around for several days.

%%%%%%%%%%%

Inside her office with the door now shut, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see a large bouquet of vibrant red roses.

"Spells, Happy Valentine's Day!" said a voice to her side.

She couldn't believe it. He was here, he was really here! She flung herself into his waiting arms. "Harry!"

He kissed her deeply before saying, "I was wondering if you had decided to stand me up?"

"I had no idea you were coming? I'm ever so glad you did, but how did you fake my signature?"

"No idea?" He asked in a surprised tone. "I guess Luna was right that you don't really read all the parchment work put in front of you."

Hermione slapped herself on the forehead. "The Macmillan purchase orders! I thought there seemed like one too many pages, but YOU were distracting me with phone sex at the time and I never followed up."

"Not mad at me are you?"

"Of course not, but this was an awfully large amount of trouble to go through just for an illicit tryst in my private office. Won't your colleagues be annoyed at you using your authority for something as silly as this?"

"I don't think you quite fully understand. It's all legitimate. You're looking at not only the luckiest bloke in the world because he's your boyfriend, but the new permanent liaison between Special Auror Services and the Ravenclaw Institute's Forensic Thaumatology department."

"Oh Harry!" She leapt at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "We'll be together every day! No more week long field assignments, no more lonely nights, no more… wait, it's Valentine's Day?"

Looking confused at her sudden change of tone. "Umm… yes." He hoped that was the right answer.

Pulling off her lab robes and unbuttoning her blouse, she said, "Unbuckle your belt, I'm going to do you right now!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	23. This Time - Do It Right

A/N: Thanks Brad Coleman for your suggestion as to why Cho was in this story. Thanks to Chris Dee who provided inspiration for the title.

A/N2: **PLEASE NOTE!** This story is incomplete. I have completely forgotten where I wanted to go with this, I currently do not have an ending, and my inspiration is dry. On top of all that, I've misplaced my notes. If anyone is interested in finishing this or doing some brainstorming regarding this story or any of my other works in progress, then please message me.

I'm posting what I have since I figured it would be a shame to waste all that writing time. Enjoy!

%%%%%%%%%

Harry looked to the world an excited young man. Eleven years old and able to do magic. Why wouldn't he be ecstatic? Well, he might be an orphan, kept in an abusive household, being groomed to be a sacrificial lamb for an old fool. Yes, that is certainly a possibility.

However, in this case, Harry isn't grinning like a loon simply because he found out he could perform honest to god magic; something that ordinary people dismissed as a child's fantasy. No, the reason he's so very ebullient and happy is because of whose hand he's holding.

Crammed cater corner next to the outer window of the very full compartment, Harry James Potter, slayer of Voldemort, Boy-Who-Lived, and, most importantly, the one holding onto Hermione Jane Granger's hand.

Arriving at King's Cross Station early and passing through the barrier as if he had

-Incomplete-

%%%%%%%%%

(sometime in year 1)

"Blood of a virgin?" he asked.

"At least for a few more years, check." She responded.

"Bottle charm made of cut obsidian?" he asked again.

Holding the small bottle up for Harry to see, she replied, "Bottle charm ordered directly from the Kingdom of Kamehameha, check."

Looking further down his list, Harry asked, "Pentagram made from aforementioned blood of a virgin maiden?"

Hermione pursed her lips and grasped her recently sterilized potions knife. Deftly pricking her finger, she swiftly inscribed the star shaped pattern. After popping her finger between her lips, "an 'teck" was soon heard from her full mouth.

"Ready for extraction?"

"Ready for extraction, check."

Harry closed his eyes and knelt down while holding the tiny bottle outstretched.

Hermione put her hands on the sides of his head as if to hold it in place. She cleared her throat and in a calm, clear voice said, "Harry James Potter, I love you with all that I am, all that I ever will be, forever and ever, unconditionally and of my own free will. Will you accept my love and give it back in equal measure, forgive me when we quarrel, hold me when I'm weak, and love me even when I can't love myself? "

"I do so swear."

"Then so mote it be."

She leaned forward and with as much of her love and affection as she could muster she placed a delicate kiss on his scar.

Immediately, a flash of heat and pleasant warmth seemed to spring up where her lips met his scar.

Pulling back, a small, bubbling, inky ooze began to issue forth from the rapidly reddening scar.

Taking the jar from Harry's proffered hand, she hurriedly covered the emerging goo with the bottle. At her gentle urging, Harry leaned forward to allow the bottle to fill.

After several minutes had passed, all the goo had passed into the bottle, leaving a thin film on Harry's now fully healed over scar. Gingerly, she held the tiny bottle up to the light to reveal the most disgusting, dark colored oil imaginable.

Looking down at Harry who had fallen back to rest upon his hands

Touching her wand to the mouth of the bottle, she cast, "Intero" and the mouth closed in on itself forming an air tight seal.

%%%%%%%%%%%

They needed the cloak. The map was a possibility so early on, but the cloak was a problem. It most likely resided within the castle, but knowing the old man like they did, it could be anywhere within the wards; though, even that wasn't guaranteed. Snape was no longer a problem but Filch and Mrs. Norris made things more problematic. In short, they needed the cloak.

Harry lay sprawled out on a sofa and Hermione paced back and forth before him. "We need it now but we can't take it."

Taking over from where she'd stopped, Harry continued, "He has it, but if it suddenly goes missing he'll notice and things might go pear shaped."

Tired of pacing, Hermione moved over to the sofa and sat down so Harry could wrap around her. He could be so clingy sometimes. Fortunately for him, she liked it when he was clingy. She leaned back slightly as she felt his hands upon her body and felt his body move and reposition itself so she ended up sitting between his legs with one arm around her tummy and one armed draped possessively across her chest. "Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way…" she mused as he nuzzled her bushy hair.

"Hmm?" Harry said absently.

"Hold me tighter," whispered Hermione.

Harry happily complied.

"So, as I was saying. We need the cloak, but we can't take it, so what if we move up his time frame even more so he has to give it to you before Christmas?"

Harry thoughtfully considered this as he slowly blew puffs of cool air against her neck. "Sounds promising, but how to go about it?"

Hermione shivered each time he blew against her neck. Strangely enough, his actions helped her to scheme more efficiently; a fact he was well aware of. "The Mirror of Erised," she said with an evil smile.

%%%%%%%%%%

Hermione mentally high fived herself, the mirror was right where it was supposed to be. Now, the two step plan she had concocted with Harry's help. First, determine if Dumbledore was present. Two, convince Dumbledore that she wanted to bring Harry to see the amazing mirror, but was worried she might get caught wandering the halls.

A slight creak could be heard in the distance. To someone less suspicious, it might be written off as the castle settling. Hermione knew it for was it was. Dumbledore was present and watching her intently. The creak from the frames of his spectacles proved that. She prepared to put on a truly great performance…

%%%%%%%%%%%

"T-o-rrroooll! Troll in the Dungeons!" He yelled and gibbered; his shrieks echoing against the ancient stone walls. Finally, Quirrell came to a stop in front of the head table, almost as if he were strategically placing himself directly in front of the entirety of the student population for maximum effect.

In a meek, slowly softening tone, one that seemed to presage his eventual descent into unconsciousness, the pale, shivering, sad excuse for a wizard commented, "—Thought you ought to know…" and then he fainted in full view of the headmaster, the professors, and all the students.

As one might expect, complete pandemonium ensued. Children screamed, professors gibbered amongst themselves and one student with red hair came very close to pissing himself at the thought of a troll coming to smash him into jelly. It was like something out of a nightmare. He'd thought he was safe, he'd finally come to terms with the fact that no matter what his older brothers had claimed, it wasn't standard procedure for first years to wrestle trolls – and now this.

Dumbledore kept his eye on the insensate Quirrell. This was not unexpected. From what he had known of the nebbish former Muggle Studies professor, he'd been aware of weak fool's natural affinity to troll wrangling. Hence why one of the traps protecting Flamel's famous stone was a guard troll. He truly did lay there as if dead. _Really, whom does he think he's fooling?_ Dumbledore grimly mused, even as he used his wand to fire off a cannon blast spell.

Focusing everyone's eyes on him, he ordered the prefects to escort their students back to their dorms and then told the professors to follow him into the dungeons. Though it did seem foolish leave students, some of whom could barely make their wands glow, in the care of the students who were only slightly more capable; the wily old headmaster was confident that no one would dare question his orders. He was THE Albus Dumbledore. Everyone always did as he asked.

No matter that the room they were leaving was easier to defend and thus far safer, he had to clear the room so that Quirrell would make a bid for the stone. He wasn't worried. He'd had a particularly clever idea of how to keep Quirrell from obtaining the stone, once he reached the end of the traps. Admittedly, he had planned to only implement the mirror gambit after Harry had gotten the opportunity to learn more about the mirror, but it couldn't be helped. Without Severus everything was so much more difficult.

Why, the time spent filling in for his favorite potions master was astronomical – he was just so very busy, and not without good reason. He wasn't quite sure how, but the students, and not just the first years, but every single one, had a surprisingly poor understanding of potions. He just couldn't understand it. The first years knowing next to nothing was understandable – Severus hadn't even made it through his first day before the incident, but something must have completely befuddled the other years. Granted, some were passable brewers, but no student aside from some bushy haired, mud-blood firstie had possessed even an inkling of proper potions safety, why they prepared ingredients a certain way, or why certain potions were stirred in certain directions. It was most vexing and he resolved to investigate those perennial troublemakers, the Weasley twins, just as soon as he found the time.

%%%%%%%%%%%

Harry and Hermione walked slowly amongst the other Gryffindors. Anyone paying attention to them would have remarked how unusually calm they appeared for a pair of know-nothing Firsties. Fortunately for them, no one paid them much attention.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"I see what I want, but how do I get it?" the normally craven man peevishly narrated to what appeared to be an empty room.

"Tell me what you see." A raspy, sibilant voice commanded.

"Quirrell's head nodded briefly though his eyes didn't waver from the mirror or the image. The Mirror of Erised stood before him, tall, silent and inscrutable. He remembered the Headmaster mentioning it was to be stored in the castle, but he had not expected it to be waiting them in the final room of this dungeon.

He licked his dry lips and softened his tone as she spoke. "I see… I see myself kneeling before you. I'm presenting you the stone, Master."

%%%%%%%%%%%

"Yippie kay yay, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Yelled Harry as he charged the Defense Professor.

Unseen by any in the room, Hermione softly slapped her forehead. She wondered if it had been a good idea to introduce Harry to that particular film. In the end, she shrugged and kept her wand steadily trained on the dark wizard.

Harry jumped up and wrapped his hand around the man's head. A sickening, sizzling sound filled the room. Quirrell screamed in pain and his flesh flamed red where the boy's fingers touched. Each section of skin Harry's fingers even brushed immediately burned fiery to the touch and soon turned to ash.

When their ex-professor finally collapsed into a heap of soot covered robes, scraps of flesh, and burning cinders, Hermione still stayed beneath the cloak. She had spent too many years facing dark magic to fall prey to premature exclamations of victory now.

And then it happened. Like a dark, vengeful demon, the conscious soul of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, Most Terrible Dark Lord in Hundreds of Years arose from the rubble and ashes of his expendable pawn. He was ghostly in appearance, a vengeful wraith made of smoke or steam. He extruded a fearful countenance even as he surged forward like an onrush of sudden fog. His mouth gaped open in a snarl of terrible loathing and hatred. Voldemort, weak and furious, saw his path was clear and faster than anyone could react. He wanted –no—needed some of the immature boy's magic to aid his escape. He was here, still anchored to the earthly plain so long as his horcruxes were safe. The only available target stood as if frozen in front of him. Incredibly, the mass of evil's eyes were alight with the knowledge of victory as it crashed headlong into Harry's chest.

IMPACT.

Harry went flying backward. And a high, feminine voice screamed his name.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione and the invisibility cloak was flung aside as she dashed forward to check on her boyfriend.

Flat on his back and spread eagle, the Boy Who Lived was staring up at the vaulted ceiling. His eyes were blinking and she could see he seemed aware. Intellectually, she knew things were going according to plan, but life had taught her that no plan survived first contact with the enemy intact. She grabbed one of his hands and used her other to cup his cheek. "Harry…" she breathed.

He focused his attention on her and lifted his head. "Ho, ho, ho. Now I have his soul," he said a bit more weakly than he would have liked. Giving his best girl the best cheeky grin he could manage he then pulled the gold chain out from underneath his sweater. It pulsed darkly due to the new occupant but quickly quieted.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and helped Harry to his shaky feet all the while muttering about crazy Yank action stars. She supported Harry as they made their way back to the brooms they had borrowed to fly over the chess set.

"Where to now?" he wondered aloud as he leaned against the wall while she collected his cloak.

"You, Potter, are going straight to bed."

Harry let out a groan. "Not the hospital wing. I hate spending the night in the hospital wing."

Hermione shrugged as much as she was able. "No, mine. I am not letting you out of my sight even if I have to summon you up the stairs."

"You could just bunk with me, you know?"

"I could… but don't you always say that Ron could make chainsaws sound quiet?"

Harry set his hands about her still immature hips. "You've said similar things about Lavendar Brown."

Nibbling her lower lip as she was apt to do when thinking, and also because Harry found it sexy, Hermione conceded, "Well, yes. Lavender and Ron do seem well matched." She sighed. "All right. We'll bunk in your dorm, but if Ron overpowers the silencing charm in the middle of the night, then I'm only renewing it for me."

Harry tried for a cheeky grin, but ended up wincing in pain.

Hermione shook her head slightly in a 'what am I ever going to do with you' sort of way. She softly asked, "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Harry honestly had to smile at the woman who had always been by his side, present chronological age notwithstanding. "Oh, yes, definitely yes. My lips hurt more than I can say."

Despite all that happened, Hermione couldn't keep the smile from her face. "Prat…" and then she leaned over gave her Harry a quick but tender kiss.

%%%%%%%%%%%

"Quick Harry, flash me!"

Always ready to flash Hermione, Harry prepared to smile. Teeth shining brilliantly, he opened his mouth and flashed his most rakish smile and held it. Hermione only had to look at it for a second before she closed her eyes as she visibly shuddered.

"Oh… baby, that's it." She whispered before opening her eyes. Seeing he was still smiling _that way_ at her, she hurriedly crossed her legs, squirmed a bit and then shuddered once more as her eyes were forced close again. Not wanting to moan out load, she bit her lip and held it for several seconds as the tremors passing through her body finally subsided.

A crash could be heard near her and turned her head carefully so as to avoid another knicker twisting look at her boyfriend. Evidently Parvati had been caught in the corona of Harry's smile and fainted from the exposure. Lavender had been sitting on the far side of Parvati and she was trying to help the still weak girl back to her seat.

Hermione spoke casually. "You can stop smiling Harry. I'm fine now… better than fine, really."

Harry stopped baring his teeth but he now had a little smirk on his face.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle. "You shouldn't look so smug; you'll get a big head." She spared a quick glance up at the golden robed fraud sitting at the Head Table. He was still smiling and his teeth were as white as they had ever been but they held no attraction to Hermione now. As far as she was concerned, the poncey git could smile as long and as often as he liked, but he wouldn't be getting a reaction out of Hermione Granger this time so long as she got her fix from her boyfriend on a regular basis.

Not wanting to be overheard, Hermione mouthed to Harry, "No, you don't want to get a big head now." Pause for effect. "It would be much more useful when we are alone later." It was Hermione's turn to smirk when Harry flushed involuntarily. Obviously, he'd gotten her meaning.

%%%%%%%%%%%

(Early in year 2)

**Beware the Heir! Those who prey on the weak shall be ended!**

-Note found dropped atop the point jewels in the broken Slytherin hour glass.

"What do you make of it, Albus?"

Dumbledore looked down at the perfectly flattened and stiff piece of parchment; he glared as if trying to incinerate it with his burning gaze. "I don't know Minerva," he finally answered. "But I fear for the students, particularly the more childish pureblood families. Oh, how I wish Severus wasn't comatose. He would be such a help with this."

The piece of petrified parchment shattered into dust.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster, Professor McGonagall. Lovely weather isn't it?" called two voices in perfect Harmony.

The two educators... well; one educator and one infernal busybody turned to look at second years Mr. Potter and Miss Granger (or as the rest of the school (exempting certain Gingers) called them, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, walking by them hand in hand.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

(A little later)

As the sink slid back into place, Hermione kissed her future husband on the cheek. "That was amazing. Who knew basilisks could be so friendly."

Harry pulled her tightly to him as he draped the cloak over them. "It certainly helps that I can speak parseltongue. Though I imagine it doesn't hurt that it's not being controlled by an evil, undead wizard."

"No, that certainly doesn't hurt. Oh, don't forget we have to make some more elixir for Sirius' care basket before we turn in for the night."

"That's right. I almost forgot. I don't know how I would keep the timeline straight if it weren't for you."

"It's simple. You wouldn't. You'd get all confused, obliviated or angsty and nothing would ever change."

"True. Do we give the stone back to Flammel after we're done with it?"

"I don't really see the need. He's got dozens, and anyway, this one barely works well enough to make basic healing drafts. Voldemort couldn't have come back even if he'd gotten his hands on it."

Harry smiled and then reached under his robes and pulled out a pendant on a length of gold chain around his neck. "Hear that, Tom? You couldn't have won even if I'd lost. Sucks to be you."

%%%%%%%%%

(Later in year 2)

"Albus! Albus! Come quickly!"

"What is it, Minerva? Can't you see that I'm trying to finish my recommendation for Minister Fudge regarding the advancement of Madame Umbridge to the position of Senior Undersecretary?"

"Umbridge? You mean your failed experiment from when you tried to create a permanent, trans-species transfiguration of a toad into a decent human being?"

"Precisely the same person. Such as shame about her irreparable lack of empathy and rampant paranoia. I've long felt a sense of parental responsibility toward her. It was such a boon that she showed a calling for bureaucracy – as those failings seldom come into play there."

McGonagall harrumphed at the very idea of a former amphibian working for the Minister of Magic. Although knowing Albus, his recommendation would come with several cleverly hidden compulsion charms. Suddenly, she gasped as she recalled why she was there. "Albus, you must come quickly. Students have been attacked!"

"Now, Minerva. We've discussed this. For the greater good, some Muggleborns might be inconvenienced this year. We'll have them un-petrified before year's end. So there's no need for such fuss."

"No, no. You don't understand. It wasn't some Muggleborn. It was 5 purebloods. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, and Chang. Each boy has had his... *ahem* genitals ripped away and the girl will be lucky if she ever has children."

"WHAT!?"

"Can Madame Pomfrey heal them?"

"Not at this time."

"What do you mean, Minerva?"

"They were attacked and then petrified."

Albus stood up from his chair. "But that's impossible. Slytherin's basilisk only attacks non-purebloods."

Minerva couldn't meet her eyes with his. "Be that as it may, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do when news reaches outside the castle."

Albus wiped his forehead with a large polka dot handkerchief. "This is an unmitigated disaster. Please tell me Poppy can fix all the damage."

"She claims that due to the petrifaction magic, nothing is for certain, but according to her, no. At least, not the boys. Their 'equipment' was missing from the scene so magical re-attachment is out of the question." She paused and her brow creased still further as she struggled to find the words to explain the next part. "Once they're all un-petrified, Poppy estimates Miss Chang will have the highest likelihood of living a relatively normal life."

"Relatively normal?" he asked while sucking on one of his few remaining 'special' lemon drops. Once again, he missed his Potions Master deeply.

"In her case, there is a possibility of complete physical recovery. However…" and McGongall trailed off, unsure how to broach to topic.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "However? Please continue."

McGongall's expression was tight as she continued. "Albus… Poppy suspects Miss Chang may have been the victim of rape prior to her petrifaction."

Albus was shaking his head. "No, Minerva. Those boys, they're but children. I cannot imagine that young Mr. Flint—"

"All of them, Albus. Poppy suspects all four boys took part. Magical scans are impossible due to the petrifaction, but visual inspection appears to support her suspicions. It might also explain the boys' specific injuries. Slytherin's basilisk was avenging Miss Chang."

Albus plopped back into his plush chair. He removed his half-moon spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose. Though he said nothing, internally, he was working through this new complication. _That theory makes no sense to me at all. Consider that tonight the lines of four pureblood families have effectively ended. Now Minerva would have me believe that those four atrocities were justified due to their youthful indiscretions with one girl? One single girl? One girl whose family isn't even properly pure since they are originally from the colonies. No, that is not commensurate… not in the least. _

Having come to a decision, he asked "Minerva, if the monster were indeed exacting vengeance on Miss Chang's behalf then why would it see fit to petrify her as well? No, I suspect something else is at work here."

Minerva's eyes narrowed. Albus had once again referred to the basilisk as '_the monster_'. Clearly, he was planning to deny any knowledge of its existence once more. That meant he would probably ask her to willingly have her memory altered... again. Deciding that it couldn't hurt for him to know what Pomfrey had told her, she offered, "Miss Chang's petrifaction was likely intended to save her from bleeding out. The _boys_ appear to have been quite rough with her."

Dumbledore gave a noncommittal sniff of acknowledgement and then acted exactly as she had expected. Several minutes later, a considerably happier, if slightly confused, Minerva McGonagall left the Headmaster's office.

Albus pulled out his pensieve and began to review his memories of that fateful day one year previous. The last day he had seen Severus up and about. The memories cheered him even ask he considered the troubles ahead. _This is all wrong. None of this was in my plans. How could this happen? I wish Severus were here to help me keep things on track. Why oh why did he have to give himself a stroke on Harry Potter's first day of classes? Nothing has gone right since then__._

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Remus, my boy. So good to see you. You're looking-" Dumbledore paused momentarily to judge his newest Potions Master. "—Better. You're looking better." He'd expected Remus Lupin to be dressed in shabby, patched, worn robes. His robes certainly weren't new, but they weren't nearly as shabby as he'd envisioned. If he were the suspicious sort, then he might suspect something was off. However the next words out of Lupin's mouth set his mind at ease.

"Thank you Headmaster. I'm so thankful for the opportunity you've provided. I don't have to tell you, but for a man with my furry little problem, opportunities for employment are few and far between."

"Of course, dear boy." He paused as he fought back a small sob. "Severus, I'm sure you remember him from when you attended Hogwarts, has shown no improvement since his accident. Though I've been covering his classes myself, I just have to face facts that he may never recover. I'm glad you were available to replace him."

Remus patted the Headmaster's shoulder and with an utterly sincere and remorseful tone consoled him as best he could. "Ah yes. Dear, dear Sni-err *ahem*-Severus. We have lost a knowledgeable colleague and a valuable resource. I'm not _replacing_ him, certainly not. No, I'm merely filling in for him during this exceptionally difficult time."

Albus Dumbledore's eyes watered a bit at the astounding display of forgiveness, camaraderie, and sensitivity. Such rare and noble qualities for any young man, but doubly so when the young man in question was really a vicious, blood thirsty, despicable werewolf. Dumbledore thought back to those long off days when he had decided to preemptively rehabilitate the adolescent werewolf. Despite great danger to the students, it had been a smashing success. That experiment had also wrought unexpected dividends as it had brought the young Severus to his attention when the two lads had their unfortunate meeting in the Shrieking Shack – for which Severus had certainly forgiven Remus and Remus had evidently forgiven Severus.

%%%%%%%%%%

"Mr. Moody, I'd like to speak with you."

Moody didn't stop walking. He'd only been outside the safe house for less than ten minutes and someone already lying in wait. _I must be getting old._ He thought. No obvious wand or weapons that his eye could see though something about her body language and tone of voice reminded him of someone who had been dead for almost 13 years. It disturbed him a little.

Regardless, he'd cross that bridge come the fall. He was retired for crying out loud.

"How's the upgraded eye working? See through any invisibility cloaks lately?" she asked casually

No longer walking away, he just stood there. And though he wasn't visibly watching her, Hermione was sure that Moody's magical eye was keeping a close watch.

"Now how would a tiny little thing such as yourself know anything about that?"

"I know a lot of things, Alastor Moody, Master Auror, Ret."

"I'm listening, lass. Go on."

Hermione curtsied for a moment, knowing full well that Alastor would take the gesture for what it was – an attempt to appear non-threatening. "Well, myself and a few associates are engineering the downfall of a dark wizard."

You? Taking down dark wizards? Don't take this the wrong way, but are ye' daft lassy? You can't be more than 15 years old-.

"— 14 actually… for a few more months at least."

"Fine then, 14 years old. It takes years of training added on top of seven years of Hogwarts study before any sane witch or wizard should even think of fighting a dark wizard."

"Does experience count for anything?"

The grizzled man laughed. "If you'd taken down a dark wizard, then I would know about it. Obviously you don't have any adult support or you wouldn't be _trying_ to recruit me. Who could you possibly…" but his voice died in his throat as an invisibility cloak swished aside to reveal Harry's head floating next to Hermione.

It was a face everyone knew but few people had seen. Moody recognized him instantly. "Aye, I'll admit HE might have some experience. One of your associates, I take it?"

"Not a bad assumption, Professor."

Mood's good eye narrowed. "It would appear you DO know things. Should I also assume you're pointing a wand at me right now?"

"It would be a safe assumption."

"Not showing a lot of trust there, Potter."

"As if you would do it any other way."

"True. So where do we go from here?"

"We need an unbreakable vow that you won't share this discussion with anyone who doesn't already know."

Slowly reaching for his flask, Moody took a swig and then chuckled. "Now why would I do a daft thing like that?"

"Because Dumbledore's gone round the bend and no one seems to notice… except you, perhaps?"

Moody took another swallow from his flask. He'd long suspected something was wrong with the Leader of the Light. No man who appointed a Death Eater to teach children could be right in the head now could he? The Defense Curse at Hogwarts aside, there were loads other choices for the DADA teacher. He'd ignored his instincts when he agreed by owl post to accept the job, but that was out of obligation to an old debt, one that was now settled.

The only other times he had ignored his gut had resulted in him losing his leg and eye respectively. This time his gut was telling him to trust these two… "Damn it to hell" he muttered as his hand scratched at his thinning hair.

"I suppose that's a yes?"

"Aye, let's get this over with."

%%%%%%%%%

Moody was a hard man to impress, but then again he'd never seen anything quite like that thing imprisoned around Potter's neck. He checked himself again for any spells or enchantments that might be affecting him and ruefully realized what he was seeing was, in fact, the truth. "Aye. I believe you."

Harry let out a small sigh of relief.

Moody pulled out his flask and raised it to take a drink, but Harry's raised hand stopped him.

"Just a moment. Mind if I examine that for a second? Want to check it for polyjuice."

Moody, though he didn't show, it was impressed. He admired the boy's vigilance, but he was still thirsty. "2 seconds, and you don't touch the flask," he growled good naturedly.

"Fine."

Moody tipped the flask toward Harry and he took a good whiff.

Harry coughed at the smell. "Definitely not polyjuice. I've not smelled anything like that before. What is it?"

The old Auror grinned a toothy smile. "Prune juice. It's good for what ails you."

%%%%%%%%

"Eye? What eye, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore barely suppressed the knowing grin as he spoke with _Alastor_ _Moody_, or at least, that was who he appeared to be to the woefully ignorant masses. As if there weren't a dozen tiny little details about the famous Mad-Eye Moody that seemed odd and out of place on the famous ex-Auror. He would just have to try harder not to give away that he knew he was actually speaking to the infamous and supposedly dead Bartemius Crouch, Junior. Patience, as always, was the key to victory, after all.

"Alastor, my, my, you're getting on in years. I need your magical eye for a few moments so that I can enchant it to see through disillusionment and invisibility cloaks. Surely you haven't forgotten? It was the reason you agreed to teach Defense against the Dark Arts this year."

Moody pursed his lips for a few moments. "Of course not, you just have to be more specific," he finished lamely. Awkwardly, he removed his eye and with slow, nervous movements and set it down on the table and then stepped back.

Minutes later, Albus had cast the same spell he habitually used on his half-moon spectacles. He found it very handy to be able to see those who mastered disillusionment and those from wealthier families who could afford invisibility cloaks. "There you are, my friend. You should be aware that young Mister Potter possesses an invisibility cloak as a family heirloom. I would prefer you didn't confiscate it, however with your eye suitably enchanted it shouldn't pose a problem for you."

Moody grinned a surprisingly savage smile as he picked up and replaced his magical eye. "Much obliged, Headmaster. Now, I've got some questions about the curriculum I'll be teaching. Shall I take it up with Professor McGonagall?"

Dumbledore suppressed his smile once more. The _real_ Alastor Moody always referred to him as 'Albus' in private and he _never_ called Minerva 'Professor McGonagall' due to their similar ages. He hoped Barty would put up a better show as time went on. "Certainly, my friend. As you well know, she has been my indispensable deputy these many years. I'm certain she'll be able to accommodate any problem you might be having. I shall pen a short note intimating that exact sentiment in case she has any concerns."

"Thank you, Sir." Moody rumbled and took the small piece of parchment. He turned to leave and just before the door closed behind him, he heard Dumbledore call out to the departing figure.

"Alastor! Before you cover the Unforgivables in Harry's year group, please alert me." He assumed a theatrically grim but concerned tone and appearance. "Due to young Harry's peculiar circumstances, I feel he and his year mates might benefit from a more hands on approach. But now is not the time to discuss it. It will wait until later. Thank you again for agreeing to teach Defense this year. I've had such difficulty filling the position lately."

Moody grunted then replied, "Not a problem," and shuffled away. His face was impassive except for a minor scowl that was almost ever present. Mentally, he was chuckling at how easily the pompous old fart had been fooled. All it took was Moody acting slightly atypical and the Greybearded old fool had seen exactly what he expected. The magical enhancements to his eye were a welcome bonus for his trouble, but what he really relished was the chance to settle some scores with some of the Death Eaters who had slipped past him over the years. _Just two things left to take care of, _he thought with another chuckle.

At the foot of the stairs, he spotted a familiar pair standing off to the side under an invisibility cloak. He marveled silently at how well informed the two were. Modifying his course, he surreptitiously handed two recently enchanted Muggle cosmetic contact lenses to the two Fourth Years. Even as he passed them to make his way to Minerva's office, his magical eye watched them one after the other each place a contact in an eye. _Damn, they're good, _he mused.

Silently and invisible to the naked eye, Harry and Hermione slipped off down the corridor.

Moody trudged down the corridor, rehearsing in his mind his prepared speech that convincingly argued that Minerva should change the official course documentation to say that Moody was the course Assistant and that Dumbledore was still the official Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. In any case, he already had the arrogant arse's written permission in case she had any objections. This was the most fun he'd had in years.

%%%%%%%

Rita Skeeter shifted from foot to foot in nervousness. Here she was a fully grown witch and just the act of coming into Albus Dumbledore's office reduced her to a nervous school girl brought to task in front of the headmaster. It didn't help that she was forced to wait for him in his imposing office, all alone and watched by his pet phoenix. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long.

"Miss Skeeter! Wonderful to see you. I'm so glad you could make time in your busy schedule to visit your old Transfiguration teacher. Lemon drop?" he offered from his ever present candy dish.

Rita managed a half smile. "No thank you, Professor Dumbledore." She cleared her throat, considering how best to speak her mind without annoying the most powerful wizard in the world. "You know, Professor, I've done all that you've asked. I've kept people from hounding Harry Potter, but with his upcoming participation in that tournament you informed me about, I don't think I'll be able to restrain my editor and still keep my job."

Looking utterly unconcerned, Dumbledore smiled knowingly as if everything was proceeding according to some convoluted and astoundingly ill-advised plan. "Ah, I thought that might be the case. Not to worry, I feel that we have shielded Mister Potter long enough. It will do him good to have some firsthand experience with the trials and tribulations that come with his fame here in the castle under safely controlled and supervised circumstances."

"Headmaster… he's only just turned 14. Are you sure he's ready?"

"Miss Skeeter, I am Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore. Of course I'm sure."

Looking unconvinced but resigned, Rita pulled out a bog standard writing quill and sheaf of parchment. "You're the boss. I owe you my career, after all. I wouldn't be the top reporter in the Ministries' only approved Wizarding newspaper if not for the little tidbits you let slip my way from time to time."

Eyes twinkling merrily, Dumbledore shook his head. "Nonsense, my dear, I've only ever steered you in the right direction. It was you who did the actual work. I have long suspected that you possess a special skill that enables you to reach your true potential as an investigative reporter."

Rita's blood ran cold. Was he hinting at what she thought he was hinting at? "Skill, Headmaster?"

Twinkling eyes found hers and though she inanely felt that her mind was laid bare to her old transfiguration teacher, she felt immense relief when he gently informed her that it had only been a figure of speech. He felt she had what the Muggles referred to as 'a nose for news'.

Having other duties to deal with, Dumbledore levitated a new quill over to Rita with a swish and flick of his wand. Here you are, Miss Skeeter, a special Quick Quotes quill. "It should be of tremendous help to you in keeping up with all the articles you'll be writing in the near future. There will be a number of famous wizards and witches at Hogwarts in the near future and I wouldn't want you to fall behind and not have enough to time keep me appraised about what's happening at the Daily Prophet."

"No, sir. Absolutely, sir. Thank you, sir."

She turned to leave.

Dumbledore called after her. "Oh, and do be careful when you're investigating later on. We've had an abnormal number of spiders in the castle in recent years. I may have to ask the elves to start removing them, though I hate to do that since their venom can be quite potent on the small creature."

Rita involuntarily swallowed hard. She again wondered if he was hinting about her unregistered animagus form again even as the door shut with a bang and the gargoyle jumped back into place.

%%%%%%%%

Albus raced down the hallway. It wouldn't do for him not to be there for the announcing of the Triwizard Champions. After all, he was largely responsible for the resurrection of the ancient and deadly tournament in modern times.

*Crack*

"Damnit" He ground out through clenched teeth. He grabbed his throbbing foot and bounced up and down in place several times. Fortunately, no one could see him. Being disillusioned while running at a breakneck pace was certainly useful in getting to somewhere fast, but it did not allow for keeping track of one's long legs. He had stubbed his toe painfully on one of the uneven stones that made up the long hallway. O_h, the things I do to maintain my reputation..._

Once again, Albus wondered whether it would really be all that dangerous for people to know that he hurried from time to time, that sometimes running left him out of breath, or that even he was occasionally late. Then he remembered the last time he was lax with himself - Voldemort was unleashed upon the world. He resumed his run. He was already late, he knew, but he was sure McGonagall would be more than adequate... at least he HOPED she'd be more than adequate as least until he got there.

Rolling his ancient and tired eyes, Albus, released his foot and resumed his running.

XXXXXX

As he ghosted around the room, he noticed the throng was in an uproar, no doubt due to the inexplicable fourth Champion that the Goblet had chosen. He smiled as he eased up to the doorway behind that very same Goblet; briefly he wondered if any of the students would be loyal enough to Harry to actually stay with him through this year's challenge. The only one he was certain that wouldn't burn bridges was the Weasley chit. She was so head over heels for the boy that Albus was sure that she would, at the very least, hold her tongue.

Dropping the disillusionment, he strode confidently into the room, an equanimous air about him. He prepared himself to act shocked over the discovery of his underage charge being chosen for a dangerous, life-threatening tournament against people several years his senior, which also happened to be a wonderful way to further distance him from his peers, break his spirit, and teach him the skills he would need to survive for a little while longer. _Such genius could only have come from one such as I._ He gloated to himself.

"Minerva, forgive me for the delay. Alastor was feeling unwell. How did the Champion selection go?"

Cold eyes all around the room swiveled to focus on the Hogwarts Headmaster. Karkaroff and Madame Maxine appeared even more upset than he had anticipated. _My plan goes even BETTER than I envisioned. When Crough gets out of the Hospital wing, I shall have to buy him some firewhiskey. Even under truth serum, I shall be held blameless for this._

"Actually, Headmaster, the Champion selection had some... irregularities."

Minerva was colder to him than usual. Albus resolved to tweak her mental conditioning later. After all, it would not do for his deputy to be disrespectful to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"What sort of Irregularities, Minerva?"

Madame Maxine chimed in. "Irregulare'ities! 'Zis is an outrage! A fourth champion is unheard of!"

"I agree, Albus! How could you let this happen?" demanded Karkaroff.

Dumbledore looked benignly clueless. "I'm sure we can work everything out to everyone's satisfcation. Minerva, what is this about a fourth Champion?"

"Exactly as it sounds Headmaster." She pointed to Mr. Diggory, Mr. Krum, and Miss Delacour. "These three were selected by the Goblet as one would expect, but then a fourth name came out of the Goblet. I immediately reconvened a meeting with the other officials in this room. Headmaster Karkaroff and Headmistress Maxime have both threatened to withdraw if this isn't cleared up."

Albus pretended to look shocked. He glanced at the other heads of their respective schools. They nodded firmly to show their agreement.

Albus prevented himself from smiling, but only with exceptional effort on his part. "And has the fourth Champion been informed, Minerva?" Curiously, Minerva McGonagall seemed to hesitate, as if deliberating over something. Albus assumed it was due to the fact that she had always had a soft spot for young mister Potter, but Albus had put a stop to the possibility of her interfering shortly after she had gotten him his first broom. _How else would boy learn to be independent and distrustful of authority if he had professors he could actually rely on? _Dumbledore mused.

"No... He has not been informed yet, Albus."

"This is quite serious. The Goblet is a powerful magical artifact and once it has chosen there is no alternative but for the Champions to compete. If one does not, he will certainly lose his magic and perhaps his very life. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Crouch?"

"That is so, Headmaster Dumbledore. All chosen by the Goblet _must_ compete." Crouch agreed while staring dully ahead.

_Imperiused up the wazoo,_ thought Dumbledore. The old greybeard twitched his lips for a moment. "Very well, have him come here and I shall inform him of what has happened and hopefully he will not die from the Tournament."

Normally, all people jump quickly to do whatever Albus Dumbledore decrees, but this time, all stood still, eyes darting back and forth in confusion.

"What seems to be the source of the confusion? Bring Ha-ahem-the student here. Surely that isn't a difficult concept?"

"Well, that's the problem, Albus," explained Sirius Black. "It isn't a student who was chosen as the fourth Champion. It was you..."

%%%%%%

**-Meanwhile, in the Great Hall-**

Harry sat with his arm comfortably around Hermione's waist. They were two beacons of calm in the cacophony that was the Great Hall. No one noticed, but each had a small, thin, piece of flesh colored material pressed to an ear. They were listening intently to Harry's mirror. As agreed, Sirius had left his own mirror active but hidden so that the two could listen in on the proceedings.

%%%%%%

**-The Weighing of the Wands-**

"Ah, Albus. I'd heard you would be competing. Terrible luck, that. Let us see. One of mine, I remember it well." Olivander gently plucked the wand from Albus' hand and examined it closely.

"It should be in excellent condition," Albus said with a smile. "

"I see..." Olivander commented while closing one eye and bringing the tip of the wand so close that one might worry about residual spell fire. "-and you've done wondrous things with a wand these past 57 -no- 59 years."

"Indubitably." offered Dumbledore, with no little forced cheer.

"But not with this wand." he said simply. As Dumbledore had handed over his  
>original wand (now his backup), his current wand was tucked away out of sight, and he had not expected this reaction - he was helpless with what came next.<p>

"Accio Albus' other wand", murmured the aged Wand maker.

Shortly, another wand flew from Albus' sleeve and dropped into Olivander's waiting hand. "I thought so. No evidence that the wand you handed me had been used for several decades - approximately half a century since it has seen regular use. You should know better than to try to hand over any but your everyday wand at an official judging." He looked down at the new wand. "Not one of mine... but it  
>appears to be... -YIPE!-"<p>

Albus' eyes widened.

Olivander dashed away. "Oh, Mr. Black! I must speak with you." And with that both Olivander and Sirius Black excused themselves to the hallway.

Several moments passed and the two re-entered the room.

Sirius spoke. "After some deliberation, it has been officially decided that  
>Champions shall have only one wand for use in the competition. Here you go<br>Champion Dumbledore." He handed back Dumbledore's spare.

"I think I would prefer my other wand as the primary." A hint of desperation caught in his voice.

Sirius looked at the old man shrewdly. Leaning close enough to whisper, "According to Olivander, that wand can summon un-summonable items and stun even very large magically resistant creatures un-aided. It would be an unfair advantage... don't you agree? I can offer a receipt from the Ministry, but unless circumstances change, you won't be seeing that wand again for the rest of the  
>term."<p>

"What circumstances?" He asked. His face was tight with concern.

"Why, when you're no longer a Champion."

"But it is a binding magical contract. I haven't found a way out of the tournament yet."

"Not my problem, Albus. Good day."

Albus wished Sirius Black was still a student... If he was still a student, then Argus would have had cleaning help for the rest of the year.

%%%%%%%%

Wormtail lay there quadruple stunned as the tall, gaunt, freakishly pale figure touched a wand to his arm. The still faded Dark Mark flared brightly as soon as the wand touched it and despite his unconscious state, Wormtail writhed and groaned insensately.

A short time later, pop after pop could be heard throughout the graveyard as dark robed figures with ghoulish masks apparated into the cemetery. None moved as they took in the sight of what could only be their lord reborn.

Gone was the handsome, intelligent, persuasive leader, only to be replaced by a pale, shrunken, wastrel of a body. It was clearly him, but they were disgusted. No feelings of joy at his return filled them, no, all that they felt was a peculiar feeling – the lack of their single-minded devotion; however, they did not realize the danger they were in.

As in times past, they expected him to slowly make his way among his Death Eaters and address them one by one, so all conscious were shocked when their lord's cold cruel voice sounded in the dank stillness of the graveyard.

He called them, each and every one of them, he called by name. As each name left his lips he scanned the crowd of murderers and searched out their face, glaring knowingly at each as if memorizing their distinct facial characteristics.

Finally, he reached the last one present but instead of going into an inspirational and awe inspiring rhetoric about their dark and glorious future, he instead denounced them as cowards and traitors. He hissed, berated them, questioned their lineage and derided them and their offspring for failing to expunge the doddering old man or the monumentally lucky child known as the boy who lived.

Last but not least, he informed them coldly that they were a disappointment and that each one of them should drop their mask and kneel before him as he punished them for their transgressions. Almost as one, they all cast down their masks and fell to bended knee… all save for Lucius Malfoy.

Suspicious by nature, something didn't feel right. So while other were lamely giving into the punishment they knew they deserved, he was indecisively weighing what to do. That was the only thing that saved him from the crimson wave of red spell fire that suddenly engulfed all of his fellow Death Eaters.

Suddenly, he and his master were the only two still conscious.

Breathing heavily like a trapped fox, he surveyed his former comrades in horror. His master was walking toward him slowly, his bony, bleached fingers were reaching out to him like a ghoul out of a nightmare. He tried to apparate but something, perhaps his master's will, prevented it. Out of pure desperation, he lifted his wand and fired off a stunner of his own in one smooth, impossibly quick, desperation fueled motion… and to his great surprise it hit.

Down went the risen dark lord while Lucius stared on in utter shock. Never in all his life had he been more certain that he was about to meet his end. He was further shocked to realize that what he had thought was his dread lord was actually a pink haired woman.

His shock lasted sufficiently long to allow one of the disillusioned Aurors to sneak up behind him to try and club him with a rock. The attack was unsuccessful, but the further attempt at his life caused to Lucius Malfoy to flee with the inept auror as a hostage.

%%%%%%%%%%%5

Hermione locked eyes with her boyfriend for a moment and then turned to face the Minister and the Head of the DMLE. "I'm unusually adept at ascertaining and interpreting advanced cross dimensional overlap exhibiting chronal variation via differential exclusion on highly focused and targeted subjects."

"Ee...wot?" squeaked the Minister.

"Mister Potter. I am a highly educated witch but I couldn't make heads or tails out of the sentence."

Hermione locked eyes with her boyfriend again. This time she held it and glared menacingly at him. Harry knew that glare. It meant something to the effect of "I love you dearly and nothing will ever change that, but at this particular moment in time, I want you to know that I hate you for this. I still love you to pieces, but this _REALLY_ pisses me off."

Harry stared right back at his girlfriend. The signal was also clear to her. "Thanks, Sweets, love you too, but what do you want me to do about this?"

Hermione gritted her teeth and turned her head back to the assembled adults. The conversation they'd been having had lasted barely more than a second. Her parting shot to her boyfriend translated to, "Don't look so smug, I know where you sleep."

Harry's answering expression, which basically consisted of a rakish leer translated to, "Yeah, with you. I'll make it worth your while."

And in the end, it was probably good that Hermione hadn't seen that reply because she wouldn't have kept her composure, though she was absolutely certain that he had replied in just that way.

Hermione sighed. This was going to suck so very hard. "I'm a seer. More to the point, I'm his seer. I am specifically in tune with Harry Potter's future, but the future I see isn't set in stone and we're actively working to change it for the better."


	24. The Bar Association

A/N: This ground has been trodden on before. This is my take on things. If I can work up the creativity, it would eventually end up a Harmony story. It's not there yet. Thank you, Nicol, for helping me locate typos.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Lily sat unsteadily. Her perceptions were not as keen as they normally were, but she could easily tell that the establishment where she was seated, despite being a dim, blobby, dung hole, was a bar. The reason she was seated with a tumbler in her hand was because the bar previously mentioned fulfilled her most fundamentally important requirement she had for such a place - it served alcohol. Considering that everyone knows all bars serve alcohol, this may seem to be an odd requirement to have. In Lily Potter's worldview, everyone else would be wrong.

Lily's thoughts on the matter are as follows: A bar should have more to offer than firewhiskey, deplorable rot masquerading as whiskey; butterbeer, terrible remnant of the Middle Ages where beer was all you had to drink and inanely targeted toward children; and that third thing that she could never remember. She knocked back her glass.

Her ideal bar would some decent beer on tap, more than one if she was lucky; a good collection of local and foreign liquors and sometimes beers; and for her all-around enjoyment, it should have a handsome man or fetching woman behind the bar capable of mixing acceptable drinks, or both.

Not that she would ever cheat on James; she loved James and she knew he loved her too. But there was no law against looking, and they'd long ago come to an agreement about what was allowed. He would never cheat on her either... at least he better not or his testicles would explode. Lily Evans had not been known as the scariest witch of her generation for being soft. She signaled to the bartender to go again.

The bartender, a congenial sort, poured her another glass and stood dutifully by as Lily held the glass up in a mock salute and then quickly drained it. "Reload."

"Hitting the whiskey a bit hard tonight, aren't we?" The bartender said in a concerned but not judgmental sort of way. Judgmental seriously cut into her tips.

"I can handle it," was Lily's unconvincing reply. "I've been dry for nine months. After what I've been through, I think I deserve a drink or two."

"Or two, yes. You've had five since you sat down."

"Shouldn't be a problem. I've done seven before."

"But not in at least 9 months, right? You might need to work your way up again."

Lily's eyes swam before her even as she was planning to contradict the overly concerned but not-at-all judgmental bartender. "I'll have you know-urk- that I think I need a bucket...

One appeared before Lily so quickly to a casual observer it would have seemed like magic.

%%%%%%%%

Lily Potter, feeling much steadier on her feet, stepped out of the ladies toilet and walked back to the bar.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you." Lily replied.

Moments later, a steaming cup of a coffee and was set before her with all the trimmings.

With murmured thanks, the coffee was soon making its way down her throat. It was very good.

"If you don't mind my saying so," the bartender began, "you don't strike me as person out to celebrate."

Holding the warm cup between her cool fingers, Lily shook her head. "No, I'm not."

Emma thought on this for a moment, deciding how she wanted to approach this. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No."

"If it helps, you should consider that you came to a bar to drink. There are plenty of places to buy liquor but you came here where there is a person you can confide in."

"You're very good at this."

"It's a calling. I consider myself lucky that they actually pay me to do what I love." She picked up a clean glass and started polishing it with a bar towel. The glass didn't need it, but there was something comforting to patrons who saw her doing this stereotypical bartender task.

"My parents just died."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

She gave the glass another just-so polish, held it up to the light for inspection and then set it down with a little more noise than was quite necessary. She then picked up the same one and started polishing again.

"I think I'd like something stronger than coffee."

"Coming right up." She set down the tumbler she'd been polishing and with a smooth motion lifted a green bottle and poured a finger full into the small glass.

Lily picked up the drink and held it in front of her like all the secrets of the world were held inside.

"So, I can tell you're curious. Go ahead and ask."

"..."

"Not talking?"

"I make it a policy to know when I'm being too nosy."

Lily set down the drink. "No, no. Go right ahead. You're right that if I didn't feel like talking then I wouldn't have come to this bar. Ask away."

"Waited until you had something to toss in my face -you're one scary lady. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh, loads of times."

"So, nine months..."

"A son. A beautiful baby boy. If nothing changes, then he'll have the same eye color as me."

"Ah, then congratulations. I was worried-"

"You were worried I'd lost the baby and that was why I was drinking." Lily replied in growing realization. "Tactful"

"It comes with the territory. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to my daughter."

"Married?"

The bartender with the chestnut brown hair fished a length of chain out from underneath her shirt to display a wedding band. "I like to keep it close to my heart when I bartend-" she paused for a moment and looked left and right as if checking to make sure she wasn't overheard. "-and to be honest, the tips are better when I don't wear it."

For some reason, Lily found this the most hilarious thing she'd ever heard and nearly choked on her drink.

"Now, now, no dying in the bar. Frank won't let me moonlight here if another one dies."

Getting her coughing under control, Lily croaked, "Another?"

"Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Mick's an older fella and one night after he came in for a few pints, he went and had a heart attack. Complained about heartburn, stiff shoulders, and everything else they warn you about since he sat down at the bar. I didn't notice until he mentioned the tingling in his arm and saw how flushed he looked. I called for an ambulance and ended up having to perform CPR on him before the ambulance arrived."

Lily looked somber as she asked, "So… he didn't make it?"

The bartender was polishing a glass again. "Oh, he made it. Doctors made him quit drinking. He said he'd never forgive me for saving his life-" she paused to build up the suspense "-he still drops by from time to time to drink a soft drink, but I'm not always here."

"Oh." Lily said as she sipped at her drink. "Where are you normally?"

"Normally, I'm working with my husband at a business we own together. He's a dentist, in case it wasn't at all clear." She gave a wink.

Returning the wink and adding a smile Lily paused and then said, "I know it isn't any of my business, but why are you tending a bar if you own a dental surgery? This can't be anything compared to what you earn at your other job?"

Breathing deeply, the woman developed a kindly look to her face, one that seemed odd at her young age. "This isn't a job. It's a calling. I learned to tend bars when I went to University, and it gets in your blood after a while, I suppose. Additionally, I met my husband tending a bar, so there is a certain fond nostalgia to it." She pointed to the ceiling. "Now this bar is owned by an old family friend. He's like an uncle or maybe a funny old grandfather. He lets me bartend when the regular bartender can't come in to work and I enjoy the rare opportunities I get."

"You're good at what you do."

"Thank you, I strive to give uniform service."

"Lily Potter." She stretched out a hand.

"Emma Granger." She grasped the hand and gave it a firm shake. She had a good feeling about this one.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Oh good, you're here."

The normally unflappable Emma Granger, bartender extraordinaire seemed slightly more flappable today. Lily couldn't say exactly why until her eyes settled on the odd hat perched incongruously on Emma's head. "Emm, what is that doing on your head?"

"Umm... keeping my brains from freezing?"

"Hah hah, very funny. How about you pour me a neat scotch, something from the highlands, and tell me the real reason you're wearing that eyesore."

With trained practice and professionalism, she deftly poured the drink and served it to coincide with Lily's bottom touching the seat. "You'd never believe me if I told you."

Picking the drink up and toasting to absent friends Lily commented, "You'd be surprised what I'd be willing to believe."

"You've never seen anything quite like this and even if you had, you'd never believe how it happened.

Lily raised an eyebrow and then set her empty glass back on the bar. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then let me be your friend. What IS under your oddly ugly hat?"

Sighing, Emma pulled the hat from her head. Strands upon strands of multi-colored hair streamed down around her head.

"You dyed your hair?"

"Yes." She said sulkily.

"I don't see what's so hard to believe about that; though, it must have taken forever to dye your hair so many different shades all at one time."

"I dyed my hair brown." She paused for a moment as if trying to find words. "I dyed my hair because it was so many different colors, but it wouldn't take."

"What?"

"You heard me. It was because of my insanely colored hair that I tried to dye it brown. In fact, I tried to die it 6 different times before I gave up. I actually saw the brown slide off my hair onto the floor."

Lily blink-blinked for a second and then said, "Reload."

Diligently and with no wasted motion Emma refilled the glass with one hand. Then she picked up her hat and proceeded to stuff her wildly color hair back away from prying eyes. "I told you."

Lily took a sip before saying, "Did your daughter turn anything else wild colors?"

"Yes, but—wait—how could you possibly know that?"

"Did I not say that you'd be surprised what I'd be willing to believe?"

"Yes, but—".

"Ahh ahh, no buts. I'm your friend and if you're willing to have your entire worldview turned on its ear, then I think I can help you. Either that or you might be able to wait until your hair grows out and cut it, or worse case scenario you'll have to invest in a quality wig."

"You can help!?"

"Shh... Yes, I really think I can. Is there somewhere more private we can talk?"

"There's a room in the back, but I really shouldn't leave the bar unattended for very long."

"Commendable work ethic, but I think that if your daughter really was responsible for your hair looking that way, then we would probably go to your home. There are only two regulars here anyway, so I'm sure they'd understand if you said something had come up with your daughter."

Emma bit her lip as she sometimes did when she was mulling over an unusual course of action. Then she chastised herself that she had better stop doing that or her daughter was liable to pick up the same habit. "Right. Let me just go explain it to the gentlemen." She left her spot behind the bar but took two bottles of beer she had pulled from somewhere.

Several minute and two short explanations later, Emma was flipping the closed sign around and was holding the door open for Lily. "It's just a short cab ride to our home."

"Lead the way."

%%%%%%%%%%%

"Magic."

"Yes, Magic."

She looked at the mirror in her hand, raised a hand to feel her hair and make sure she wasn't imagining the return of her normal hair color. She looked over to her friend and the ornately carved stick in her hand. A _wand_ she had called it. "And you're a witch?"

"Yes, I'm pleased to see you understand. Most people react—"

The hand mirror slipped from Emma's grasp and shattered on the ground as Emma fainted on the spot.

Lily sighed. "Yes, most people react badly when they find out about real magic for the first time." She prepared to enervate Emma and then she would fix the broken mirror, but then she thought better of it. Too much magic in front of one new to their world probably wasn't the best plan of action. She casually cast a Reparo and in short order the mirror was whole once more. An enervate spell later and Emma was enjoying a small role reversal as Lily poured her another scotch.

Emma had gulped the first glass down, but she nursed the second one. She had just been brought into a secret beyond anything she had ever imagined. Glancing down at the unbroken mirror that should have been in dozens of pieces; at least, that's how it should have looked if her ears weren't defective. She'd been certain she had heard it shatter as she was blacking out, but now it looked as flawless as they day it had been made.

Lily had power. That much was obvious. What was also obvious was that there were more people like her. More witches and possibly more warlocks, if she remembered her fairy tales. A secret of this magnitude and powers they could potentially have... well, she'd had no idea they existed. What might they be capable of doing to keep their secret? What might they be capable of doing to her?

"It's fine Emma. No one's going to harm you."

Suspicion tinged Emma's voice as well as burgeoning anger. "How did you know what I was thinking? Were you reading my mind?"

"In the spirit of full disclosure, I am capable of doing exactly that, but to answer your question, no, I did not."

"Then explain how you knew what I was thinking."

"Your eye was twitching, you were biting your lip, and you had a blank stare on your face. It takes very little of my considerable intelligence to realize that you were agitated and worried about the possible ramifications of being informed of an entire world populated by people, yes, people with magical powers."

_Biting my lip? Okay, then that's plausible... _Emma thought as she nodded uncertainly.

"Now, just to reassure you, though I do have the ability to read undefended mind, a discipline called Legilimency, I do not do so without permission unless there are dire circumstances."

"Dire how?"

"A matter of life or death, and this situation does not qualify."

She looked at Lily in her emerald green eyes. "All right then."

"Are we all right?"

"No, but we're friends, right?"

"Of course."

"Then we'll be all right. I just need to get my head wrapped around a new paradigm."

%%%%%%%%%%%


	25. How Not to Ruin a Friendship

A/N: I've long thought the whole "But what if we ruin our friendship" excuse was a terrible reason not to pursue potential happiness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, wha-what if we ruin our friendship?"

"Ruin how?" asked Harry thoughtfully. It had never occurred to him that ANYTHING could ruin their friendship.

"Oh… umm… I-well you see-I don't know…" She trailed off looking so distressed at not knowing that it was all Harry could do not to sweep her into his arms and comfort her.

Then Harry actually parsed what she had said. It didn't make sense to him. He considered it again, but it still didn't make any sense. "So you're saying we should consider not pursuing a romantic relationship together because of a reason you don't know?" He finally asked.

Hermione's cheeks colored as she realized what she had actually said. "Well, you see, I never really stopped to consider it before. Originally, it wasn't even my idea, you realize. Ginny asked me how I felt about you since she was planning to try for you, but I told her I have a much stronger claim to you and then she said that she thought we were more like brother and sister." She glanced at Harry's indignant face. "I know! That's exactly how I felt and so I told her she was absolutely mad, because the way I want to run my hands over your body, through your hair, and kiss and squeeze you… well, you get the picture, I think. Then she asked if I wasn't afraid that doing those things might ruin our friendship."

Harry swallowed as he found himself drawn to her enthusiastic expression and chocolate brown eyes. "I do, indeed." Then he blink-blinked as if woken from a trance. "Wait, what did you mean by _much stronger claim_?"

Eyebrow raised, Hermione just looked at him for a moment. "You're seriously asking that or are you just trying to take the piss out of me?"

"Seriously." He said so gravely that Hermione had to restrain herself from wrapping her arms around him and squeezing his face into her still developing bosom.

"All right. Then allow me to demonstrate. Close your eyes, Harry."

His eyes closed as soon as his brain had comprehended her order. He never stopped to consider when such blind obedience had become commonplace. Oh well. "Done."

"Now, Harry. I want you to really try and picture what I'm about to tell you. Don't open your eyes, but try to imagine everything to best of your ability. Can you do that for me, Harry?"

"Uh huh," he said as he nodded his head, "I think I can do that for you."

"Good, now are your eyes shut tight?"

"Yes."

"All right then. I want you to picture your best friend."

"Okay."

"And you can see Ron clearly in your mind's eye?"

"No."

She put her hands on her burgeoning hips. "And why not?" she asked, a touch of frost entering her voice. Not obeying perfectly was not a good sign. She would have to figure out where she'd gone wrong.

"Because Ron isn't my best friend and you asked me to picture my best friend."

"Oh?" She asked in a surprised tone. That explained how she had erred. He followed the order perfectly, but the order had been wrong. "Who are you picturing?"

"You."

Hermione blushed and then as if on cue, Harry flushed slightly. Hermione noticed. "Harry, how exactly are you picturing me?"

"The same way I do every night, Hermione."

"Which is?"

"With a great big smile."

_Oh, that's not so bad. Nothing scandalous either… so why the blush_? Hermione wondered. "And?"

"And what?" Asked a clearly puzzled Harry.

"Well, I can't imagine smiling would make you blush like that." She said quite reasonably.

"You'd be amazed what your smile can do."

"Hmph… Are you imagining me posing in stimulating poses?"

"No."

"Then are you imagining me wearing swim clothing?"

"No."

"Llingerie?"

"No."

"Are you imagining me wearing any sort of provocative clothing?"

"No."

Suddenly, an interesting thought occurred to Hermione Jane Granger. Just the thought made her smile brilliantly. "Harry, are you imagining me wearing anything at all besides a smile."

"No."

This frank answer brought an even brighter flush to her cheek, but Harry couldn't appreciate it because his eyes were still closed.

"Although under normal circumstances, I would have no problem with you fantasizing about my naked, smiling form…" she trailed off as her own highly imaginative mind wondered how his mental image of her would stack up to the real thing. Her hands came up to cup her chest and then moved down to trace the outline of her hips. They were coming along nicely so perhaps some comparisons might be in order… for experimental purposes only, of course. Then the smirk returned. Well, there _wasn't_ any rule against having fun while being thorough. And even if there did happen to be such a rule—well, some rules were meant to be bro—no—she couldn't say it. "Ignored." She rolled that word around here tongue for a moment. "—some rules were meant to be ignored." Yes, it lacked something in terms of panache, but she could at least finish that thought. But she was getting off topic.

She cleared her throat. "Ahem… as I was saying I'm fine with you perving on my naked form with a come-hither smile, but right now I need you to imagine your best… um, actually what is Ron to you?"

His blissfully happy smile faded a bit. "Ron? Oh, he's my first friend my same age and I think he's supposed to be my best mate."

"You think?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the dubious tone out of her question.

"I say 'I think' because he was the one that just started referring to himself that way shortly after we met. I wasn't and still am not too sure what a best mate is supposed to do, so I just let him call himself that."

"Right then, please picture Ron… fully clothed, and not eating anything please."

"Don't worry, way ahead of you."

"Now, Ron is Missus Weasley's son, right?"

"One of them, yes." He agreed verbally and with nod.

"She treats you like another son of hers, right?"

"I suppose so. Actually, I think she sometimes treats me better than Ron, but she's always saying I'm like a son to her."

"All right. Now, we've established that you are like a son to the Weasleys. Would you say that is accurate?"

"Yes."

"Which would make you and Ron brothers of a sort, right?"

"I follow you. So?"

"Well, now I want you to picture Ginny."

The somewhat lukewarm smile turned into what some uncharitable folks might classify as a scowl. "Okay."

"Ginny is Missus Weasley's daughter, isn't that so?"

"Uh huh."

"And you're like son to the Weasleys, isn't that also so?"

"I don't like where this is going, but yes."

"So that practically makes you brother and sisters, doesn't it? No, wait, don't answer that! First, I want you to imagine kissing your sister Ginny on the lips!"

Harry dropped to his knees and a horrible look of revulsion appeared in place of his scowl. His eyes miraculously stayed closed. "Yeaccch. Oh, Hermione, that was foul. Why would you make me imagine something like that while putting all that other imagery in my head."

"Oh, I'm not done, Harry."

"You're not?" Harry asked, his voice with a hint of a quaver that normal, non-Hermione people wouldn't have noticed.

"Now, I want you to picture Missus Weasley naked."

Harry covered his mouth to help mentally reinforce his desire not to throw up. "Now you're just being mean."

"Now I want you to realize Harry that Ginny will probably look an awful lot like her mother as she gets older. She's got all the same bone structure if you look closely."

Harry tried shaking his head violently back and forth to rid his mind of the imagery. It wasn't successful.

"Now, Harry, I'm sorry for what I put you through, but I want you picture me, and only me, smiling at you."

The blissful smile returned to his face.

"You should be aware that people often confuse my mother for my older sister when we're out shopping."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I've got wonderful genetics backing me, Harry."

"So, you'll continue to look beautiful for a long time to come?"

"Yes, and if my Grandmum is any indicator, then for a long, long time."

Harry's blissful smile got wider.

"Now, Harry, the second to last thing I want you to do is picture me getting on my knees, leaning forward to kiss you on the lips. Pucker up, Harry."

"Okay, but I feel bloody redic—soft lips touched his."

"Hmm…"

"Oh… wow," he murmured.

The kissing went on for a while. A bit later, Hermione turned to Harry, his eyes now open. "So, who has the strongest claim to you?"

With her hand resting on his chest, Harry couldn't keep the small smile off of his lips as he said, "You. It is most definitely you."

"Good. I'm glad we're agreed." Her other hand came up to rest right along its mate.

"Me too." Harry said in awe as his hands came up of their own volition to grasp her around her waist. He had always known she was slim, but taught muscles surprised and excited him."

"Oh, by the way…" She started to say as she leaned in close to his ear – her voice dropping down into a husky register.

"Yes?"

"Did you want to help me with a series of experiments?" She brushed the side of his cheek with her lips ever so softly.

"Tell me more." He turned to smile at her while simultaneously pulling her closer– his green eyes sparking at the rush he felt.

%%%%%%

A locking and silencing spell was soon followed by the removal of some unnecessary items.

Her gaze made Harry feel all warm and steamy, but Hermione evidently felt at least some small chill in the air. She returned Harry's earlier smile and he couldn't help but be struck at how exactly she looked like the smiling Hermione in his head.


	26. Much Better

A/N: Very short at only 377 words. I was contemplating that if this had happened in Canon, then suddenly everything that came before, I could be alright with it. Of course, if everything that came after still remained unchanged, then I would again have to disavow the last two books.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She hadn't spoken to him since he came back - cold shoulder all the way. In another time, another place, Harry might have been inclined to talk to her on Ron's behalf, but he'd left them... again. He'd hurt her by going away and well, things were different now. They'd gotten rid of Ron's sleeping bag when he walked out on them and now that he was back they had to make do with two.

Ron's expression the night he'd come back was memorable. Completely oblivious to how tired, hungry, and close the two had become, when Hermione went to bed first he'd tried to follow her. She stood up from the sleeping bag, moved to the other one that didn't have Ron trying to squeeze into it, and deliberately turned her back on the affronted ginger.

Huffing and sulking at the same time, Ron wrapped his sleeping bag up around him, clearly intending to punish Harry by keeping the second sleeping bag all to himself - he could freeze for all Ron cared. His anger and resentment turned to shock as he saw Hermione holding her bag's flap open for Harry. Harry bent down to slide into the sleeping bag.

Ron's muddy brown eyes met Harry's emerald green and instead of ducking his head apologetically, Harry met the stare and held it. Ron, under the implacable stare tried to muster the hurt and anger he felt, to play on Harry's soft sentimentalities and make his perpetual guilt work in his favor, but Harry's eye's were cold and sharp and... Ron had to break eye contact before Harry killed him. He cowered in his sleeping bag like a worm in a coccoon.

Conflicted at being happy and displeased, not by Ron's presence but because she was happy Harry had stood up to Ron for her and sad because she was still holding the flap open for him and she was now quite chilled due to their staring contest. Resolving to end this pointless tete-a-tete between Harry and the Coward, Hermione reached up and snagged Harry's shirt collar. Down he came and with a kiss on the cheek, he settled in behind her and wrapped himself around her. _Much better!_ she thought as she drifted off to sleep.


	27. Tricksy Rings

"What do you mean she's gone to the Potter vault?" The large, snarling, bank manager demanded.

"J-just what I said, sir, she's gone to remove everything in that vault as well."

"Well, she won't get—wait, what do you mean 'as well'?" He asked even as a sudden feeling of dread sprang up in his stomach.

"Well, she's already emptied her own vault and the Potter trust vault. She's now on her way to vault 0000-0000-0001 with plans to empty that one as well."

Eyes wide, the manager worked his jaw for several moments. He couldn't get his mouth to close no matter how hard he tried. Finally, having reached his boiling point, he used his own right arm to slam his own jaw shut. The echo of a steel trap bounced around the room. After some experimental jaw movements, he continued, "Why am I just hearing about this now? I should have been informed the instant an Of-Age Potter first appeared through the bank's front doors!"

"But that's just it, sir, she's not a Potter. At least, we don't think she is-."

"Then why are you wasting my time!?"

"Because we don't know how she was able to empty the trust vault."

"She must have Mr. Potter's key."

"What should we do about vault 0000-0000-0001?"

"No one except for the manager of the bank and an Of-age-Potter, either by birth or marriage, may enter that vault. Any who try… well, let's just say that those who try to breach that vault never have the opportunity to try again. I think perhaps she won't be a problem for much longer."

%%%%%%%

-Far below-

"Blasted ring, blasted stupid infatuation, blasted Harry for being handsome, blasted me for trying on the aforementioned blasted ring, and blasted ring again for NOT. SHUTTING. UP!" She had started with a mutter but ended up screaming at the ring on her hand. It wouldn't come off! The deserted tunnel echoed before the sound disappeared into the darkness at the edge of her light sphere.

\Thou loveth the heir, thou camest into yon vault willingly, verily thou placed the ring on thine own finger. Why art thou distraught?/

"Perhaps you didn't hear me before. I am not happy with this situation. And can you quit talking like some pseudo Shakespearean character? My name may be Hermione, but if you must speak to me, then please speak in the vernacular."

\Accessing your language and syntax centers. Please wait… this may sting slightly./

"Ow!"

\Ah, there we are. Delighted to speak in the vernacular. When I first learned your name, I thought I was still in those dreadful Elizabethan times. Absolutely no style whatsoever, and such drab color combinations!/

"You and I define the vernacular very differently."

\Sweetie, poh-tay-toe, poe-tah-toe./

"Why can't I take you off my finger?"

\Why would you want to take me off?/

"I don't want Harry to know I tried you on."

\Bit late for that, I'm afraid. The sprog will find out if he hasn't already./

"What! How?"

\My twin should already have appeared on his ring finger./

"Twin? Why am I suddenly filled with dread at the possible implications of that word?"

\I don't know… perhaps because you seem quite intelligent except for the minor temporal damage I'm working to repair./

"Damage?" She squeaked, a little scared.

\Yes, looks to be caused by repeated temporal energy exposures before your magical core had stabilized. I've never seen anything quite this extensive. You'd have to have traveled through time 3 or four times more than the maximum safe limit for someone of your tender age and or traveled with an object of equal or greater mass at least once./

"There's a maximum safe limit?"

\Of course. Once per 24 hour period, for the very young, and possibly twice for someone of your age./

"Ah, that would have been useful to know." She inwardly kicked herself. She knew she shouldn't have spent all that extra time in the library.

\So, back to the sprog./

"Assuming you're talking about Harry, why do you keep calling him that?"

\He's the last Potter by blood, isn't he?/

"I assume so."

\Then until he has a sprog of his own, he's just the heir and I can call him whatever I want. If you don't like it, then get off your bottom and give him one./

"I've got a wand and despite my misgivings at close range cutting curses, I've got a bottle of dittany here and I'm not afraid to use it."

\Don't get your nose out of joint. Who else is going to give him a legitimate sprog and legitimate heir other than his wife?/

"Did you say w-wife!?"

\Yes, I did, Mrs. Potter. Oh, and before I forget, congratulations./


	28. Scuttlebut

180 years old as of yesterday. He was extraordinarily lucky to have made it past 11, let alone live to be 180 years old. He took a swig of his tea with a splash of milk. He'd have preferred pumpkin juice, but this late in the day tea was better for him or so his wife had always told him. Ye gods, how he missed her…

As he reflected on his long life, he realized he was lucky in another way.

Two young, relatively speaking, kids were arguing.

"No, Harry Potter was not an angsty, hormonal idiot with a death wish. He was brave, and self-sacrificing with an unfortunate saving people thing, and he most certainly did not marry his friend's shrewish little sister." The young girl declared.

"How can you be so sure? You're basing your entire argument off of that old book you found."

"It is not just some 'old book'. It's a biography on the real life story of Harry Potter, and although it's missing the author attribution and consequently I don't know who the author was, it must have been written by a close friend of his. It had to have been, because otherwise how would the author have known how much he loved to sneak a glass of pumpkin juice in the evening when he should really be drinking tea with a splash of milk, which anyone who has read _The True Life and Times of Harry James Potter_ would know is his preferred way to take tea."

"It could be a work of complete and utter fiction. Everyone knows-" And he continued his conversation with the girl. On and on they went. The girl reciting word for word passages from this contentious book and the boy countering her every argument while still remaining calm.

The old man was very familiar with the book the girl was quoting. Perhaps, more familiar than he would have liked, once upon a time, but now that he was getting on in years, he thought perhaps it was time someone set the record straight.

Walking over to the 'kids', slowly but still spry for a man of one hundred and eighty years, he sat down at their table and began telling them what really happened. Most of what he had to say was in the same ballpark as the 'common knowledge' things the boy had mentioned. Nothing he said would contradict anything that was published in the biography the girl had been so enthralled with. It wasn't exactly the same since reality had been a bit more gruesome than what the biography had tried to convey and some things had been understandably left out.

By the end of his tale, the old man gave them a few bits of hard won advice. "First, remember that any Harry Potter story you hear, no matter who you hear it from, will not be one hundred percent true. There will always be some exaggeration or omitted fact. He lived through some terrible, terrible things, some of which you're better off not knowing about. Second, never ever let a book come between you and someone you care about or you might end up old and alone like me. Third, if you like someone, then tell that person, don't let them slip away because you think you're not good enough for him or her. Let the other person know how you feel and then let them decide. Or they might choose the wrong person and then you might choose the wrong person and end up miserable for the rest of your life."

"Umm, thanks, Mister...?"

"Please, just call me Harry." He stood up stiffly and walked back to his table to finish his tea with a splash of milk, served just the way he thought he liked it.

The 'young' twenty something turned to her equally 'young' twenty something boyfriend and said, "That was Harry Potter..."

"I think you're right, Dear."

"But I thought Harry Potter ended up marrying Hermione Granger, his best friend, and living happily ever after."

"My advice is 'Don't believe everything you read, even if I was the one to write it'," came a voice.

They both turned to see an older but still dignified woman. She smiled at the two kindly. "Harry didn't live happily ever after. He got his head out of his arse, fought another dark lord; got married, fought a different dark lord; had kids, brought down a pair of dark twins; destroyed a former classmate who had risen from the grave as some horrific form of sparkly un-life, and then finally gave up the hero business and settled for a quiet retirement taking care of the grandkids and the great grandkids. Often he likes to do some people watching in our youngest daughter's pub."

"So, you're the former Ginny Weasley?" Asked the boy skeptically.

"What? No, no. My name is Hermione Potter. Before I became a Potter I was a Granger."

"Then why tell us not to believe everything we read?"

"Oh, do try and keep up. I just explained that even though I essentially wrote Harry lived happily ever after, the book was published over 160 years ago. I would have had no way of knowing what happened after the book was published. And Divination being the wooly discipline that it is, I had no other alternative but to end the biography there."

"Oh." The younger engaged couple replied in unison.

"Plus, it's tradition. But in any case, my advice was sound. I mean look at the absolute codswallop GFB Enterprises has been printing over the past several decades that masquerade as legitimate histories.; horrible, ghostwritten stories with inconsistent characterization and plot holes galore. And the bits that they do release that aren't written by a ghost writer are so amateurish that you'd think a university dropout wrote them. I mean, really, it's always 'he said' this, and, 'she said'; would it kill those no talent hacks to insert a bit of variety? Though judging from what I've witness, it's possible it very well may, in my opinion."

They looked at the older man sitting alone at his table. He was staring at Hermione Potter, and he looked younger and more alive with each second of eye contact.

"Mrs. Potter?"

"Yes?" she asked without breaking eye contact.

"I thought he said he was miserable and alone, so how that be if he's married to you?"

"What was the first thing he told you?"

"Oh, that-oh, right, exaggeration. Gotcha."

"Excuse me, but I've got to go have a private chat with my husband." She walked over the Harry, her own bushy hair beginning to take on a chestnut brown color just as Harry's hair was turning black."

"Harry, I think you need to come with me back to the house."

"Hermione! You're here, you're really here! I haven't seen you in..." His brows scrunched as his flagging memory was rebuilding itself. "Well, hours, at the very least. I'm so glad you're safe!"

"And that's exactly why you need to make love to me as soon as possible. We're starting to look our age."

"Really?" He pulled some of his dark bangs into view and squinted at them. They seemed as black as always."

"Yes, your short-term memory loss and temporal confusion should have been your first clue, but due to the age induced cognitive dysfunction, it's expected you might not notice."

Clarity and purpose began to show in his eyes and face. "And why are you not affected?"

"Oh, I'm affected, but fortunately for the both of us, aging affects me slightly less severely than you… up to a point. I had to leave myself a post-it note to go find you if I couldn't remember why I wrote the post-it note."

Memories still uncertain, Harry said, "I feel better than I have in a long time. It started once you showed up. Why?"

"Between the two of us, we have enough tantric energy stored to return our cellular structure to an earlier state." She seated herself on Harry's lap, her body having regained the look of a woman in her prime – not a trace of gray. She ran her hand through his dark, messy hair. "It's not going to last that long, unfortunately, which means you need to make love to me until I can't see straight."

The amorous pair's outward appearance had seemingly stabilized to look nearly as young as the two kids, who were watching everything take place in quiet astonishment, Harry picked up his cup, drained it and wrapped his wife in his arms and popped away.

"So those _were_ your great-great grandparents, right?" She inquired, obviously still incredulous but quite impressed.

"Evidently… though who would have thought everything my parents said about them would be true?"

"I know, strange, isn't it?"

"Yes, indeed." The man took a sip of his tea and then summoned a pitcher of white to add a splash to his tea. He sipped. "I think I see what great-great-grandfather sees in this – ruins the bitter straight away." He paused and looked at her with a clarity that was just like his great-great grandfather's. "I hope his other advice is equally as good." He pulled a small velvety looking box out of his pocket. Opening the box, a diamond gleamed merrily.


	29. Territorial Hermione

A/N: A little something for Hermione's birthday. It's late, but hopefully not unforgivably so. I don't treat Ginny very well here. I've done worse to her, but I wonder if I should try and write something where I'm kind to her? Though, I am a Harmony author… perhaps 'kinder' would be a more achievable goal?

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Ginny sagged against the cool stone of the corridor wall. Her face ashen, her expression shell-shocked, she mumbled, "I can't understand it. He just walked right into the cupboard after Hermione, and I've been trying for months... "

Facts and little tidbits of truth that she had forced to coincide with her own skewed worldview simply snapped back into their proper place and thereby shattered the fanciful scaffolding that allowed her to ignore reality for so long.

Minutes passed.

Five minutes and then ten.

Finally, at the 42 minute mark the door swung open. Walking slowly but with a smugly content look on her face, Hermione unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into her mouth. She looked wonderful with a glow of happiness and pleasant soreness in all the right places, Hermione stopped in front of Ginny and just watched her for a few minutes while twirling her lollipop.

Noticing Hermione for the first time, all Ginny could do was croak, "Why?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"Well, you have to admit you didn't have much of a question."

"True." She conceded.

They stood in silence for another long minute.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ginny?"

"Why would Harry go into a broom cupboard for you? I've tried everything to get him to follow me and I've always thought it was because of how he grew up -being forced to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Do you really not know, Ginny?"

"No, I really don't."

"Harry went into the cupboard because I was in the cupboard." She paused and watched the girl's eyes lose focus. "Does that clear things up for you?"

"But-" she started to protest; though suddenly everything seemed to draw still and her legs wouldn't move. She felt very much like the silly, lovesick little girl who planted her elbow into a dish of butter.

"I see that I may have misread the situation."

"Do you?"

"I think so."

"Good. I hope that this will finally force you to realize the futility of pursuing Harry."

Some of her old pluck and courage began to reassert itself. "I'll do what I want."

Hermione sighed, transferred the lolly to her left hand and massaged the bridge of her nose before standing straight and looking Ginny directly in the eye. " Allow me to clarify... by dint of being The scariest witch in all of Magical Britain, and the eternally watchful eye I keep on you and your activities, if you flout my request and pursue Harry again, then I shall regretfully reduce your entire skeletal structure to something resembling protoplasm that even magic won't be able to return to normal. I hope it won't come to that." She glared for a half moment, and then asked, "Are my hopes fulfilled?"

Ginny, who could have sworn her heart had momentarily tried to beat its way out of her chest and then that same heart had decided to actually stop dead for a second, whimpered slightly and said, "Yes Ma'am. Fulfilled. Very much so..."

"Go find some other way to occupy your time. Winky will clean up the spot you left upon the floor."

"Before you go..."

"Yes?"

"What if Harry comes after me instead of the other way around?"

"Assuming there's no mind control involved?"

"Obviously," Ginny asserted in a suspiciously casual tone.

Her suspicion piqued, Hermione glanced at a nearby suit of armor standing further down the hall. With narrowed eyes, she spied the crossed fingers Ginny had hidden behind her back being reflected in the highly polished armor. She was not amused in the least but soon a terrifying countenance graced her face. That, coupled with her intent and willingness to do whatever was necessary to keep her Harry _hers_ and hers alone, with the possible exceptions of Daphne, Susan, and Luna as subordinate wives, would have cowed even the Dark Lord at his height. "Then I'd sever your spinal cord at the base of your skull and spread-eagle you on an anthill - just so we're clear. We are clear, aren't we?"

The indescribable dread that could only be killing intent filtered across Ginny's perception. "Crystal clear. Yes. Good night."

"Good bye, Ginny, and have a wonderful life. You just need to understand that it won't be with Harry." 


	30. Behind Her Eyes

A/N: This is the result of sleep deprivation and melancholy.

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Hermione opened her eyes slowly and looked around. _Train –got it_. _Hogwarts Express, to be exact._ Fingering her clothing, she confirmed she was dressed in robes. Judging from her necktie, she hadn't been sorted yet. _Ah_, she thought, _I'm starting this story right at First Meeting._

Sighing at the interminableness of her situation, being a fictional character was really quite awful. Laughable plots, overly contrived storylines and the appalling lack of privacy. She looked behind her, then to her right and then finally stared down ahead of her. _Three walls down. Now… the fourth._ She squinted oddly and then slowly, almost painfully slow and deliberate, looked to her left.

_Laughable plots, indeed. _She thought as she saw her viewers. How the author expected to keep the audience interested with such banalities as First Meeting was beyond her. The sad fact of the matter was that most authors who started at or around First Meeting could only keep a coherent story together up through Petrifaction or so. It was the rare author who occasionally kept going until around The Hippogriff Escape. Then and only then did things sometime get interesting.

Concentrating briefly, she felt her magic well up inside of her. Burning up from deep within, she felt her power, strong but still unfocused, rise up from her chest, up her throat, past her ears that briefly burned red, and then radiated outward from her scalp. Her previously manageable hair frizzed immediately and, almost took on a perfect fan shape.

_Why__,__ oh why do they always start the story with me looking like a miniature Emma Watson instead of how I really looked? NEARLY. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME._ she groused, the frustration tingeing her thoughts. It wasn't that she didn't think Emma Watson was gorgeous, but she was also a fashion model who had admirers the world over. _No pressure, huh._

She took a deep breath to focus herself and to allow the currents and eddies of the storyline to flow through her and guide her unconscious actions.

She opened the door and resigned herself to talking about that silly toad again. It hadn't even really been lost. Hermione had hidden it as an excuse to go looking for Harry. It hadn't helped, unfortunately.

And then something happened that Hermione didn't expect.

Ron Weasley, sometimes husband, sometimes boyfriend, constant pain, constant humiliation, always a thorn under her skin. Fortunately, she **knew** the current author. No matter what mindlessly vapid storyline he may contrive for this little exercise in futility, she was certain Ron wouldn't be a boyfriend or husband this time around.

Ron was shoved in a corner, his hands bound behind his back, gagged, and with a look of fear on his face that made Hermione feel almost giddy. She actually would have felt giddy if not for the fact that eleven year old Harry Potter, her eternal best friend, longtime confident, sometimes boyfriend, sometimes husband, occasional 'mate' though she found the term degrading, and carefully hidden though terribly obvious crush was pointing a wand at her face.

But that turned out not to be the problem she had expected it to be. Harry, realizing someone was entering the room had turned his wand toward the intruder. Recognition flashed in his eyes almost immediately afterwards and he yanked back his arm and the wand at the end of it so quickly that if she had blinked, she may not have even realized she had been held at wand point.

And then the wand discharged a bolt of magic through the roof the train car.

Still reeling from the rapid one-two punch of bondage Ron and Harry nearly smashing her like a bug, Hermione barely had time to swivel her head back to face the green eyed boy.

Again, another surprise.

Harry dropped his wand, rushed forward and before the feeling of falling could be completely registered, Hermione found herself cradled in his arms. Harry's face nuzzling back and forth at the crook of her neck and easily intelligible rambling of, "Thank god you're alive. Thank god you're alive," over and over again.

Of all the many situations Hermione had experienced in her eternal role as Hermione Granger, this hadn't happened before. She'd been a shell-shocked child soldier with survivor's guild issues, a broken woman constantly living in fear, a victim, a hero, a martyr, a saint, a sinner, a goddess, and even a demon a few of time. One of her more memorable lives was as a magical cyborg while also portraying a number of sister clones. That had been trippy; right up there with the genius who decided she should abuse a time turner and polyjuice potion. The Harry duplicate was fun to play with, but since it was really her under all that magic… well, let's just say that even with the magic, body parts that she didn't normally have are not so pleasant when tied into the nervous system in odd ways.

"You've never met me before, Harry. Have you?"

This question stopped the nuzzling. He pulled back and looked her in the eyes. "Oh no, you don't remember?"

She could feel him looking into her.

"No, you _**do**_ remember. Wait… that didn't… you can't… how?"

"I know you, Harry Potter. I've always known you. But you're not acting like you're supposed to. In fact, you're acting like – well… me."

Harry was shocked beyond all thought by the memories he'd somehow been able to glimpse behind the eyes of Hermione Granger. In her mind, he found memories that the best efforts of thousands upon thousands of Dumbledores, Snapes, and the occasional Voldemort had never been able to discover.

She kissed him.

It was then that she wished they were both older.

"Harry. Do you remember… _us_? Do you remember us together before we met today?"

The kiss having reset his thought processes, Harry said, "Yes."

"And what did we do?" Hermione asked gently. She was wary, but the signs were too compelling to ignore. She might, just might, have discovered the first ever other person who was cognizant that they were fictional, someone who was _AWAKE_ as it were.

She looked off toward the 4th wall. "You better not be screwing with me. I put up with an awful lot from you. Dangling false hope… well, that's worse than torture. Believe, I know torture and if you're screwing with me, then you had better stop now, because if I actually get my hopes up fully, and then I'm disappointed, then I will find a way to make you sorry. Are we clear?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"The author and audience." She pointed.

Harry turned to follow her finger. His eyes went wide and mouth dropped open. He gaped.

Not one to leave Harry catatonic if the story didn't demand it, she grabbed him by jaw, close his mouth and then kissed him again.

Kiss restart complete, he shook his head and then answered. "We were fighting Voldemort, the three of us, backs to each other. I trusted Ron to watch out for you while I dueled with Tom, but when it looked like I was losing, he betrayed us. Ron shoved a knife through your back and in my shocked horror, Voldemort used Dumbledore's flame whip and ripped my head off. The last thing I remembered was Ron… touching your body while my headless corpse fell to the ground."

He shuddered and held her tightly.

Hermione thought back. She remembered that story. Before she'd changed stories again, she'd crushed Ron's balls like a strong man cracks walnuts. Then she'd lived through several more lives. Which meant that Harry must have jumped stories too, but perhaps the order was different or maybe he'd only just Awoken? She couldn't be sure, but she felt giddy and turned on in a way that an 11 year old shouldn't be able to feel.

"I know, Harry. I was there, too. I crushed the bastard's balls for it." She held his face tenderly. "We have a lot to talk about."

Then the author did something terrible.

A large, heavy section of roof came crashing down completely unexpectedly. It hit at the worst possible angle and an awful squelching, crunching sound filled Hermione ears. Harry's head lolled limply and eyes dead but filled with surprise stared back at her.

Hermione took several deep shuddering breaths. It had been like this in the beginning when she had first Woken up. She'd never really known why she seemed to remember each and every different story she took part in. She'd made guesses and cried tears every time she had to say goodbye – at first. But story after story, well, after a while, she had just started to feel numb to the pain. The loss was still real; the agony of separation, but the pain wasn't so sharp anymore. Oftentimes, she found she could shape an individual story so they played out very similarly. It was part of the reason why unskilled authors tended to find their stories following one very generic path at least up through That Stupid Ball. She could affect the story if she put her mind to it, but it had been many stories and many lives of Hermione Granger since she felt the need to meddle overtly.

Now she felt like meddling.

It took a great deal of anger to fire a killing curse. Aside from the considerable magical requirement, no normal person possessed the self loathing to cast the killing curse on himself. Fortunately for Hermione, she was far from normal.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione still but untouched and Harry broken but not bloody, Ron stared at the horrible scene and screamed and screamed and screamed through his gag.

When the prefects finally forced the door to the compartment open at Hogsmeade, Ron still breathed, but there was no one looking back from behind his eyes.

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	31. more Bar Association

A/N: Allow me to apologize. After I finally got some sleep and put a dent in my sleep debt, I realized how very depressing my previous story was. I won't be posting anymore stories that are so substantially non-fun in the Warren afterward. From now on, all of my really depressing bits of fiction will go in their own dedicated story.

Here. Have some more Bar Association as my way of saying sorry for exposing you to that sad and depressing foray into my mind.

Thanks go out to alix33 and goku90504 for typo hunting.

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"So, why exactly did you seem so pleased to see me tending the bar?"

Lily pasted a charming smile on her face, though Emma noted the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Can't I be happy to see a friend?"

"Certainly, you can be happy to see a friend, but answering a question with a question and disingenuous smiles would suggest that isn't the reason."

"I did fix your hair, you know."

"Yes, and I'm grateful and I also thanked you for it." She paused as mulling over something. "I'm trying to figure out what you want to tell me but at the same time don't want to tell me. And believe me, I'm no mind reader."

"That's a relief. I had a good friend growing up and he was always trying to nose about in my head. Of course, with a nose as big as his, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised."

"Beak like a pelican?"

"Just so. I never had the heart to tell him, though, especially since he fancied me terribly."

"So James had some competition?"

"Oh, no, no. I've never felt that way about anyone aside from James." She sighed.

"So, then it was James you came by to talk to me about."

"What! How could you possibly know that?"

"You married young, right out of school, am I right?"

"Yes, though what that's got to do with anything, I haven't the faintest."

"And he was a bit of a rake…"

"Right again."

"And he's done something perfectly silly but he doesn't understand that."

"Now you're getting scary."

"Remember how you said I was, 'good at what I do'?"

"Of course."

"You weren't wrong." She took Lily by the hand. "Come with me to the kitchen and bring the bottle. This isn't the place to discuss the faulty male intellect."

%%%%%%%%%%

"So his parents are pressuring you affiance your son to some witch?"

"Their word, not mine, but it's not quite how it sounds. The term 'witch' has no pejorative meaning in our world. It's used the same way non-magicals use the terms woman or girl."

"They really don't care for 'non-magicals', do they?"

"We're actually fighting a civil war right now between so-called Purebloods and those of us who aren't."

"Hmm…" Emma murmured as she gave her liquor a small stir.

"I knew from the beginning that the family I was marrying into had some history but apparently it is really rather extensive. His family goes back some thousand or more years of recorded history." –Sip- "His parents aren't in the best of health and they're feeling some pressure to assure the continuation of the family line."

"You'd think that since you've already delivered an heir they'd cut you some slack. Barring that, I'd think they'd want you to have another child as another potential heir rather than trying to get the one you already have engaged before he's even finished teething."

Lily nursed her drink. "Actually, it's funny you should mention that. Magical families seldom have more than one child per family. It bothered the heck out of me the first time I realized all my classmates were the sole child in their families."

"I'm assuming this is a big school…"

"Substantial but quite small in comparison to non-magical ones. It's up in Scotland."

"All single child families?"

"It's not an absolute rule. Sometimes a family will give birth to twins or the first child will be a girl and they may try for another child."

"Then that would suggest a monetary rational; inheritance and such aside from the line continuation."

"That's what I thought. I attended school with several well-to-do families and though it isn't spoken aloud often…"Lily trailed off and set her drink down as her pleasant, open face took on a more shifty and suspicious character. She glanced around as if afraid of being spied upon.

When Lily drew her wand, Emma held her breath. She realized she now had a much deeper respect for ornately carved sticks.

"Do you mind if I cast some privacy spells? I'll only keep them up while I'm here, but now we're delving into areas that I really shouldn't risk being overheard."

"Is there any reason I should say no?"

"None that I can think of."

"Then please go ahead. If safeguarding the existence of a secret world doesn't require rate extra caution but what you're about to say does, then I'm on pins and needles in anticipation."

"Trust me, there's a very good reason I'm being cautious." She waved her wand in a complex pattern and added in a few well-placed flicks. Glancing about the room though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, she then nodded her head as if to assure herself and then continued on with her story.

"There are some… what you might call… superstitions among the older magical families. Many have to do with childbirth. Now, I want you to understand that I don't believe in these wild superstitions, but I wouldn't even know about them if I hadn't gotten one of my former professors incredibly intoxicated during my bachelorette party."

"So she's trustworthy, I assume. Deeply so, and very knowledgeable about all things magical."

"So what are these superstitions?"

"Do you want to hear the one related to what we're talking about or just the most ridiculous one?"

"Ridiculous first and then we'll segue back into our previous discussion."

"They actually believe that newly magical children from wholly non-magical families actually steal magic from pureblood families. That's the reason why purebloods are having record numbers of squib children."

"And squibs are?"

"Oh, sorry. A squib is a person who is born from a magical family but has no magic of his or her own. Exact opposite of a muggle born.

"And muggle is?"

"A non-magical person; though I don't use the term often because I feel it sounds degrading."

"And this theory is impossible because?"

"I suppose nothing is impossible, but if you look at the facts, you notice that squibs only appear in families that are considered pure, a family with all magical ancestors dating back several generations. Halfbloods, those of mixed backgrounds have no squib births."

"Sounds like a genetic issue. Inbreeding, perhaps."

"That's exactly what I thought."

"More likely than babies stealing magic, I think."

"I'm glad we agree."

"So what other superstitions are there?"

"It's the secret reason why almost all families restrict themselves to just one or two children."

"Go on."

"Well, the purebloods believe that magic chooses the best traits of their ancestors for the firstborn. If there's a second child, then that child will be inferior to the first. And so on and so on."

"So, basically, what you're saying is that if you have say, five children, then the fifth child will be scraping the barrel?"

"That's it in one."

"You said almost all purebloods follow the few children rule. Who doesn't?"

"Intelligent question. There is one such family. The Weasley family. They're considered blood traitors for their excesses. They've got six boys and another child on the way. I'm not sure but I suspect that Molly is trying desperately for a girl."

"Is there any benefit to having a girl?"

"Aside from the obvious attributes, in pureblood society they can be powerful tools to raise the wealth and prestige of a poorer family."

"Of which house Weasley is, am I right?"

"Bingo."

"And does their youngest seem sub standard?"

"It's hard to tell since he's still young, but there's something about the way he looks up at you. It's almost as if he's got no clue about what going on around him and that's the way he'd like to keep it."

"There may be something to this particular superstition, then."

"Well, perhaps, but then again neither his father nor his mother are exactly first rate in terms of intelligence."

"That's a terrible thing to say, Lily."

"Yes, it is. And I'm even sorrier that it's true. There are even rumors that Molly was only able to get Arthur to marry her by using some sort of love potion."

"She sounds like a real charmer."

"Take the most nosy person you know and multiply it by a factor of ten and you'll start to approach how insufferable she is. For some reason, it seems that just because we both have red hair, that we should be best of friends. We have very little in common and she's quite a bit older than I am."

"Any redeeming qualities?"

"I've heard she's an excellent cook, though due to her history of potioning her husband, I always abstain from sampling her food. Oh, and she makes an angry dragon seem calm when she's angry about something."

"Hyperbole really?

"No, I've actually met dragons calmer than her."

"Dragons?"

"Yes, dragons.

"As in great big, scaly, ferocious, snarling, fire-breathing, eat you as soon as look at you, dragons?"

Lily paused and held up a hand and began mumbling to herself to tick off each of the criteria that Emma had listed. "Yes, you could say that."

"You mean there was somewhere were my description wasn't completely apropos?" She wondered hopefully.

"If by 'wasn't completely apropos' you mean spot on, then yes."

Images of what amounted to a winged tyrannosaurus huffed at her from her mind's eye. She could just make out the smoke rings. "I think I need another shot."

"Gladly." She poured another finger.


	32. Just Studying

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Mature situation alluded to. People often complain that all Hermione does is study. What if her powers could be used for good?

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"What is going on!?" he demanded.

"We're studying," came the cool reply.

The jealous tinge of green faded from his cheeks. A good thing, particularly since it clashed marvelously with his hair. He looked at Harry expectantly.

"Yes, studying." Harry agreed a little too quickly.

"Study…ing." He bit out as his scowl twitched as if refusing to unclench. "Studying," he said more lightly. His brow relaxed and an expression of jolly humor appeared on his face."Well then, I'll see you later." Ron departed quite speedily.

Harry looked at Hermione, who had sat down on his lap and wrapped an arm possessively around his shoulder. "How?"

"He's not terribly bright; after all, and once you've taken that into account, you can anticipate how he'll react to certain stimuli."

"In other words, you're smarter than him and therefore you can play him like a cheap fiddle?"

Hermione touched a nose. Not her own nose, let's be very clear about that part. She touched his nose. By his, I mean Harry's nose; and by touched, I mean kissed.

"Ah… I see."

Hermione snuggled in closer and Harry snuggled right back.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What exactly are we studying? You are oddly lacking in textbooks and mine are in my dorm."

Hermione looked positively predatory. "The schedule says Anatomy."

"Actually, I'm quite sure it says _Astronomy_ in the schedule you made. I don't think they even have Anatomy at Hogwarts."

Amused, Hermione produced her master schedule and her corrections quill. Scant seconds later she said, "Check your schedule now, Harry."

Sure enough, where once his schedule had clearly said Astronomy study, it now said Anatomy study as surely as Nick was nearly headless.

"Hmm… it says Anatomy in your official Hermione approved schedule exactly as I said. How do you want to proceed?" She loosened her enchanted robes; the ones that were spelled to make her impressive bust seem less so.

"Well, if my official Hermione approved schedule says I'm to study anatomy… who am I to argue?"

"I'm so glad you're taking your studies seriously, Harry. I think you should be rewarded." She smirked. "You see, I've prepared an in depth revising schedule to focus our studies. Care to take a peek?" She flipped her hair sensually and squirmed ever so enticingly on his lap.

"I'd be a proper fool not to take you up on your offer. Now, let's see. The word 'tonsils' and then an arrow pointing down…"

"I thought we'd start with the tonsils and work our way down."

"Then the words 'practical review'."

"I will deny it if you repeat this, but even books have their limitations. I thought some practical study with the real things-" She brought her arms up in such as way as to make her breast press together, further enhancing her mouth watering cleavage. "-would help you to understand some things more clearly. I suspect it will improve your enthusiasm and act as a powerful motivator."

Harry's eyes were shining with lustful energy. "And next the words are 'free time' but the 'free' has been crossed through and replaced with 'fun'?

"Well, I like to be precise when I say something. Finding just the right word to express the proper feeling is important to me and I take it very, very seriously."

"And what exactly is this last item?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here, it says very faintly, 'Happy End'?"

"…" Hermione's eyes widened abruptly.

"Hermione, what is it?"

"You weren't supposed to see that. I-I must have forgotten to erase it fully."

"Is it something bad or just something I wasn't supposed to know about – like a surprise or something?"

"It-It's fine… I just wasn't sure -you see- it's… well, it's a big step. I didn't want to push things too far too soon."

"I think I understand." Harry paused for a moment before a glint appeared in his eye like he was about to pull a prank of epic proportions.

He cupped her cheek with one hand and ran a finger sensually down her neck from her chin, across her delicate throat, past the bones in her neck, down to the robe fabric encasing her magnificent bust. He leaned in close as he popped the first button. "Be gentle with me. It's my first time." And then he began to thoroughly examine her tonsils.

Not one to be outdone, Hermione began her examination of Harry's tonsils just as fervently. Minutes ticked by and when they stopped to catch their breath from their single-minded pursuit of excellence, Harry clasped his wand, the one made of actual wood rather than the one that only resembled it -Hermione had that one well in hand- and cast a locking charm so strong that several deadbolts, chains, and a bar of iron appeared to secure the door along with the traditional squelching sound of the door sealing itself.

Marveling at the spellwork and the power behind it, she moved her hand down to his chest and took hold of his necktie. She started to say, "I think we're a bit-"

Only for Harry to finish her thought, "Overdressed for the occasion. Yes, I couldn't agree more."

A muffled rapping on the door caused Hermione to cast a silencing spell just as the words, "- Ou Done – udying – et?" filtered through. It was soundly ignored.

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	33. What You Call A Sin

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Power does not equal strength. Mentally strong and physically strong is not the same thing. Age does not always grant wisdom. Sometimes you learn the wrong lesson. And, to quote Gandalf, "Even the very wise cannot see all ends."

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Harry, I'm disappointed in you… very disappointed." He paused to let the weight of what he had said sink in. "What you are doing... is wrong. It is a terrible evil. It is -dare I say it- what some would call a sin; a sin that can never be fully erased."

"In other words, what I am about to do would make me a bad person?"

"Yes, Harry. I'm glad I am finally getting through to you."

Oh, I always knew killing was wrong.

"Then why?

"Why, you ask? Because it needed to be done."

-slit-

"And it wasn't getting done."

The corpse slid to the floor with a fleshy thud. The black mask came off.

"Severus!"

"And tall dark and bat-like makes 10."

"Ten people! Harry how could you!"

"Ten Death Eaters. Nine bastards and one bitch who used to pillage, rape, murder, and burn the innocent." He paused as Hermione Granger slowly walked into the room to stand beside him.

"Better make that 13, Harry."

"Miss Granger! I'm surprised as you. I thought you would curb Mister Potter's darker instincts and lead him back onto the path of the light."

"They were sons of Death Eaters, Headmaster. Junior bastards who lied, cheated, and stole."

"You have committed unforgivable crimes, Miss Granger. They were only children. They could have been taught the error of their ways. There are too few of us as it is."

"I may have forgotten to add that they were also murderers and attempted rapists."

"I cannot believe that. Good children wouldn't do such a thing."

"Good children might not, but then again, they weren't good children. They were sons of Death Eaters and wannabe Death Eaters themselves." She paused and looked him straight in the eyes, knowing full well that he would scan her surface thoughts. "And I notice you didn't ask who they murdered or who they attempted to rape." She dropped her glamour and Hermione Granger's mussed hair, black eye, bleeding lip, bruised skin, torn robes, missing shoes, single sock, and bloody hands with ragged fingernails punctuated her statement. "Luna, Astoria and Colin... I wasn't able to get there in time. When you talk to their parents, tell them I'm sorry I failed them, but their killers are all dead."

Dumbledore's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. "M-Miss Granger!"

She swayed unsteadily on her feet, a far cry from the determined and immaculately dressed girl she had just moments ago appeared to be.

Harry caught her before she even realized she had begun to fall. "I've got you, Sweets. We'll go to St. Mungo's, they'll fix you up."

"Thanks, Harry. I don't feel too well."

"They'll make it all better."

"Don't think badly of me for the tears, all right? It's been... difficult"

"Never." He looked up pointedly at Dumbledore.

The horror hadn't left the old man's face as he internally viewed the terrible memories he had just gleaned. "All it takes for evil to win is for good men to do nothing." He said in a strained whisper.

Harry spat on Dumbledore's colorful shoes before turning. "You aren't a good man. What you ARE is a coward. Hermione is worth ten of you."

In a hushed breath, Hermione whispered, "Harry, you're awfully warm."

In a sotto voice, he replied, "I need to get to St. Mungo's, too. Blood boiling curse I didn't fully block." He felt her left arm tighten around his waist and her right hand tighten around his arm. "It's not as bad as it sounds."

"Oh, Harry. What am I going to do with you?" Her voice soft, as her head began to pound.

"Stay with me, I hope." He squeezed her back as he felt her body sag. "Harry's not much good without Hermione." His vision started to swim, but he kept walking them toward the floo.

-step-

Darkness edged into the corners of his eyes. He felt hot, sleepy, and hot.

-stumble-

"FAWKES!"

A flash of flame and they were gone.

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End Note: No, Hermione wasn't raped. They tried and now they're all pushing up daisies.


	34. more Harry Potter and Privateer

Harry Potter and Privateer Redux

A/N: More pirates. I couldn't resist moving it in a more Harmonious direction.

Original idea by Lord of Bones

Original original idea by JKR

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"Of course I mean it when I say 'fire the cannon straight at Capt. Potter's head'."

"But are you sure, Commodore? I mean, we've been chasing him for quite some time and it is entirely possible you might not be getting enough sleep."

"Belay that backtalk, Miss Bones. If I say fire a cannon straight at Capt. Potter's head, then I truly do mean for you to aim and fire a cannon straight at Capt. Potter's head."

"But Commodore…" Susan tried again.

"No Buts! Who's the Commodore here, you or me?" She demanded somewhat imperiously.

First mate Susan Bones raised an eyebrow and took a half step back as if to frame her captain properly for a picture.

Commodore Hermione Granger, Captain of the HMS Alexandria had her head turned slightly askance and was gesturing animatedly with one arm pointing to her bicorn hat.

"You, Commodore." Said Susan in a defeated tone.

"That's right and I'll thank you not to forget it or I'll have you stripped naked, covered in coconut cream and leave you to bake in the blistering hot, tropical sun tanning charm that Lavender taught Parvati for up to 30 minutes at a time before you will be allowed to roll over."

"Commodore… Hermione. Did you just say that if I forgot who was captain, then you would subject me to a sun tan?"

"Susan, Susan, Susan. Weren't you listening? I just told you what would happen if you questioned my orders again. Tsk. Tsk." She retrieved a whistle around her neck and blew a few short notes. Soon, Parvati and Padma were standing in front of her.

"Yes, Commdore," they intoned in unison.

"Misses Patil, I want you to clear a section of the deck so that Miss Bones can be Sun: T.A.N.N.E.D.."

"But Commodore, the Sun: Totally Awful Nasty and Nauseatingly Effective Discipline might cause her delicate skin to burn!" exclaimed Parvati.

Sighing at having to explain herself yet again, Commodore Granger replied, "No, we'll be covering her in coconut cream."

Not content, the other Miss Patil countered, "But what about the tan lines. Might it not look silly the next time we come into port?"

Buffing her impressive array at scholastic medals on her uniform with her uniform cuff, she replied, "I'd already considered that. She will be forced to strip completely naked here amongst our all female crew."

The worried continued. "Oh, but the heat… what if she get's thirsty?"

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione couldn't keep the snark out of her voice as she opined "Well, I'm just a lowly Commodore, but dare I suggest you have your sister whip up a pitcher of her famous Lime-ade?"

"But, but… then how shall we prevent scurvy if she uses all the limes?"

Commodore Hermione palmed her face. "Why must I think of everything? I bet Harry doesn't have days like this. Fine, we'll defuse the exploding lemons and make lemonade instead. That should leave plenty of limes to prevent scurvy. Now, shake a leg. I don't want Harry to get out of range."

"Commodore, I really must insist. If you fire a cannon straight at Harry Potter's head, then we won't have a pirate to chase anymore – magical or not."

"No, no. It's perfectly all right." She declared while suspended from a rope that Susan couldn't recall being there a moment ago.

Giving a circular motion with one hand, Hermione was lowered into an upright cannon by her gunners mate. "As you can see, I'm in the cannon you'll be firing at Harry Potter's head; not a cannonball."

"Actually, Commodore, we're still worried about you; but for different reasons. You do realize that human cannonballs don't have a particularly high survival rate?"

"Not to worry. Luna calculated the powder charge down to the grain. Isn't that right, Miss Lovegood?"

Luna stood up from behind the cannon with what looked suspiciously like an abacus held behind her back. "Yes, indeedy." She nodded vigorously and then suddenly stopped. "Oh, wait, Commodore Hermione. Did you have a whole sandwich for lunch or a half sandwich for lunch?"

"A whole sandwich," she said after a brief pause. "Why?"

Luna's eyes reached nearly to her hairline. She chuckled nervously while attempting to extinguish the burning fuse that Susan had only now just noticed. "Oh, no reason." *Fwoo* *Fwoo* She blew. "Oh, why in the name of Titania and Morgana won't you go out!"

Hermione seemed largely unperturbed by this. The British Navy had a reputation for magnificent reserve. "You're sure everything's still fine?"

Luna nodded rapidly again while looking everywhere for her wand. Somehow she kept finding forks but no wand. "It's not like you ate any strawberry cake, right? You'll be perfectly fine."

Hermione smiled guiltily. "Well, not a whole piece. And in any case, I brushed well and flossed after I was done."

Luna made a little squeak. She turned to Susan and in a stage whisper shouted, "We have got to get her out of there!"

Suddenly, a red covered arm with gold trim reached over and plucked the almost gone fuse from the cannon.

They all stared. There, on the HMS Alexandria's deck stood Captain Harry James Potter. The most wanted pirate in Magical Britain. "Sorry to interrupt, but I got tired of waiting for you and decided to see what was the holdup." He walked over to the mouth of the cannon and gingerly lifted his fierce pursuer, great adversary, bed warmer, and steady girlfriend out of the now useless cannon.

Oddly enough, the one charged with capturing one of the most dangerous men in the British Isles seemed really happy to see him. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Harry."

"S'alright. A Pirate's gotta be flexible. Shall we continue on as if I repelled your attempt to board and followed you back to your private quarters with the extra thick walls, silencing spells, and privacy charms?"

Hermione looked him over while tapping her lip lightly with a finger. "Hmm… it goes against the grain to just bypass all the traditional swashbuckling, derring-do and fantastic escapes, but I suppose it will be all right so long as we don't make a habit of it."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Shall we take it from Loot and Plunder?" A charming smile was on his face.

Hermione's face seemed to light up at that suggestion. "They've missed you so much, Captain Potter." She doffed her coat, bicorn hat and sword belt, leaving her clad only in her breeches, her thin cotton shirt and her boots. Though not as well endowed as her First Mate, Loot and Plunder looked quite fetching underneath her thin shirt.

Taking her wand in her hand and waiting a few moments to give Harry a head start to her cabin, she turned to Susan who looked as if she had a subject that had been weighing heavily on her mind.

"Commodore?"

"Yes, Susan, what is it?"

"I still did wrong, and I think I deserve to be Sun T.A.N.N.E.D. for it."

Parvati piped up. "Padma and I also deserve to be Sun T.A.N.N.E.D."

Hermione looked Padma in the eye and asked, "You really feel that way?"

Padma nodded slowly.

Hermione crossed her arms and struck a serious pose. "Discipline must be maintained on the high sea."

"Fine. You will all be Sun T.A.N.N.E.D.. Miss Greengrass will be in charge of administering it and she will be assisted by Miss Davis and Miss Abbott who will take turns at the Conn. I expect all of you to take this opportunity to consider why you're being punished in this way. If you do it again I will have to resort to far harsher methods. M.U.D. Wrestling comes to mind."

"Commodore, I could use some help getting tied up!" came a voice from the open doors to the Commodore's quarters.

"Coming, Harry!" Hermione yelled back. "Do save some lemonade for me. I'm sure I'll be thirsty before I'm done. Torture is _such_ hard work." She told her crew and then ran off to her cabin.

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End Note: I watched The Producers with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick before I wrote about the coconut cream. Could you tell? The cartoon show, Kids Next Door, influenced the acronyms.

Please review as it really helps the creativity.


	35. Spinning Her Wheels

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: I've read the latest interview that supports a Harmonist view. I cannot recall ever feeling quite so vindicated. This is a result of that. Nearly 3 years in the making; though 3 years ago, I only had a few paragraphs.

Someone posted a comment on a message board speculating about JKR going back and fixing the last two books. I'd settle for a revised last book. It would be a heck of a money spinner, I would think. I'd buy a revised Harmony supportive last book.

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"He tried to kiss me, you know. On our _last_ date."

Harry's head shot up and he stared at the woman next to him. His mouth was hanging slightly open.

"He held my hand, he puckered up, closed his eyes and what should have been one of the greatest moments in my life… what should have been vindication… simply… wasn't."

Harry's face was cold, his eyes downcast and his expression carefully schooled so as not to divulge even a hint of emotion.

"I felt like I was being unfaithful… like I was cheating on someone with him… I can't really explain it, but it felt wrong."

Still stuck on that last thought of Hermione – _his_ Hermione - kissing Ron, he completely missed the disgusted look on her face.

"I've thought about it and thought about it." She closed her eyes. "It feels like I'm running around in circles or spinning my wheels trying to figure out why." She rested her elbows on her legs and massaged her forehead with the palms of her hands. "I had gone in so sure of myself. I had my goal set and I was fully prepared to do whatever it took to reach that goal…" She sighed.

"And so you kissed _him_?"

"You…" She began. She turned to look at Harry, her brows drawn together. "You weren't listening to a word I said, were you?"

He had the good graces to look abashed. "Sorry, got stuck thinking about something you said earlier on; didn't quite catch everything after that."

"Yes, I noticed. The _kissing_ part?"

Eyes going emotionally dead again as his mind conjured up the image, he spoke in a tone clearly devoid of nuance or inflection, "Yes, the kissing part."

"It's a little difficult to get romantic with a boy when the instant he tries to kiss you, you get a really good look at him and find yourself absolutely disgusted."

"So, did you enjoy it?" Harry asked in the same monotone way.

Hermione's palm met her forehead with a fleshy squelch. "No, Harry, no, I did not." She looked at the boy… no, young man, beside her and quirked an ironic smile. "It's terribly difficult to work up any emotion other than revulsion when you realize the boy you've set your sights on is actually a disgusting, foul, hygienically challenged coward. Any emotion, real or imagined that painted him in a positive light was essentially exorcised when he tried to kiss me. I say 'tried' because he failed." Harry still seemed to not have the plot. Frustrated at her failure to achieve meaningful communication with her young man, she reached over and took Harry's upper arms in her hands. She shook him, quite energetically until he asked, "Wa-w-why arrrre youuu s-sh-shaking m-me?"

But Harry's question didn't cause her to cease her frenetic attempt to commandeer his focus, no; instead it emboldened her to up the power. "I'm trying to convey my feelings to you, but you appear to insist on losing focus whenever I reach the part relevant to you – to us."

"I-I-I'm li-li-listening!"

"I did NOT kiss him. He _tried_ to kiss me, but FAILED. His lips met my hand and I tried to politely tell him that I'd made a terrible mistake and that we would be better off friends. He wouldn't take no for an answer, so when he tried to put his arms on me, his body odor, foul breath, disgusting teeth and greasy hair overcame me and I vomited all over him. His ardor sufficiently quashed, I bid him farewell and told him he needed a shower in the worst possible way."

"You _didn't _kiss him?" Harry was able to blurt out since Hermione had finally stopped shaking him. Not a moment too soon he felt or his eyeballs might have become dislodged.

"I vomited on your best friend and you're still fixating on whether I did or did not kiss your aforementioned best friend? Please don't tell me nargles really do exist and that they have a particularly vicious sense of humor."

"What was that about vomit?"

"That's IT! I've had _enough_!" She reached over, both hands on his shoulders like living shoulder pads and pulled Harry into a kiss.

Harry, instead of freezing up like a deer in headlamps as she had expected, turned out to be positively animalistic as one hand went into her hair and another fondled her bum. She was pulled to him by his strong arms and pressed into him as her soft, supple body perfectly molded into his hard firmness. Speaking of hard and firm, she could tell Harry was working himself up into a glorious state.

"Hmm…" He moaned into her mouth, the vibrations traveling intimately into her and making her squirm. God, she was getting hot, it was like she wanted every part of him to touch ever part of her. She'd thought learning she was magical had been a rush, but now, it failed utterly in comparison to knowing that Harry Potter liked. Not only liked, but if his actions were any indication, then he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Waves of heat seemed to be rushing from every part that touched him. How could she have not realized how perfect they were for each other? How could she have been so wrong with that other… thing?"

He pulled back for air, and if Hermione's arms hadn't been busy; she might have been in a position to protest. As it was, she let out a mewling sound of protest that she inanely wondered if it was at all related to the polyjuice incident.

"Hermione, I really, really like you. I mean, I think that, well, I… umm, kind of, think… I love you." He said into two very hurried breaths.

It was to be expected. She kissed him chastely on the lips. More of a peck, really. "Oh, Harry. I think I love you, too."

Sighing in relief, admitting this secret he'd been holding in for years out of respect for his friendship with WhatsHisName, god, he was an idiot for not acting sooner.

"It's like something just clicked, you know. I know now that I belong with you, like everything was being put to right."

Ah, perhaps it was better he waited, after all. "There's one other thing I want to ask you… Would you... he didn't quite know how to phrase the question.

"Oh, yes! Harry, yes! A thousand times, yes!"

Harry looked stunned for a moment before he shook his head… a curious motion since his legs were intertwined with hers and something hard rhythmically brushed quite maddeningly with something incredibly soft. "You realize I was trying to propose, right?"

That took her breath away quite as thoroughly but not as painfully as a bludgeoning curse to the abdomen. She coughed out of reflex. "Ahem, well, no. I didn't quite expect that so soon. I had anticipated you asking me to become your girlfriend or perhaps lose my virginity to you, either of which or both I am quite happily prepared to do on extremely short notice." She paused to let this sink in. "Marriage, well, while I am not opposed to the idea in concept, I am completely unprepared for in practice. And while I have always been quite happy to have my life in your hands and would equally happily follow you to the gates of hell, I find myself hesitant to say yes at such an early juncture."

"So… ask you again later?" Harry guessed since it was a rather long bit of exposition.

"Yes, and it's customary to have a ring for the girl when proposing."

"I've got the ring." He pulled out a ring box and opened it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring; emerald cut and emerald baguettes.

"Harry…" she said as her voice hitched. "That is a really nice ring."

"Yes, I hoped you'd like it."

Tearing her gaze away from the most perfect ring she had ever seen, she asked "Why do you have a ring that's exactly what I always wanted?"

"You talk in your sleep." He said before adding, "Sometimes…"

"I-wait-I what?"

"Fourth year, we were sitting together in front of the fireplace discussing ways to keep me from becoming extra crispy and I suspect you hadn't been sleeping well. You fell asleep and had the cutest little ink smudge on your face."

"Harry!" She said in mock annoyance.

"What? Can't I think my girlfriend does cute things?"

"Continue," she conceded.

"I cleaned up the ink, but as I was cleaning you up, you mumbled about emeralds and cuts and baguettes and such. It took some time, but I finally determined you were talking about a ring." He held the box up to cover one of his eyes, the diamond take the place of his emerald eye. "And here we are."

"Yes and here we are." She replied solemnly, which was somewhat odd since they were essentially randy teenagers pressed against each other in varying states of undress. They hadn't been boyfriend and girlfriend for even an hour and here they were talking about marriage. Life was strange that way, especially for Harry Potter and those around him.

The silence becoming a bit too serious, Hermione threaded her arms between his and wrapped around his body to rest on his back. Flexing her hips and pulling his down onto her, she dragged his body, sensitive bits and all sensually across her own body. The ring, hastily pocketed, was safely tucked away and the equivalent of fireworks was going off in Harry's nerve-endings. "Hermione…." He moaned her name.

"Now, here's how I envision things unfolding. I want you to propose to me properly, ring and all, down on one knee just after I've woken up in a bed we've shared together while wearing a wonderfully smug look on my face; the sort of look one gets when they've just been made love to for hours and now feel completely satisfied and sore in all the right places."

"So, a just-been-shagged-like-your-life-depended-on-it face?"

"In so many words."

A genuine look of cluelessness appeared on his face. "How am I supposed to arrange that?"

"The same way you achieve anything worthwhile in life, Harry." She winked at him.

"And how is that?"

"Practice…" She licked his ear.

Normally, it is impossible to apparate within Hogwarts castle. Normally, Hermione Granger would not hesitate to point that out to the woefully uninformed. Now, as Harry somehow did what was normally impossible to deposit them bereft of clothes, in a perfect bed, in what could only be the Room of Requirements, she had not even the faintest inclination to protest on the impossibility of what had just occurred. In fact, she was grateful. Smiling at her with perfectly pearly teeth and a hint of minty toothpaste, she sighed, then shuddered, and finally moaned all the while thinking that everything was just perfect.

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In a place where tired metaphors go to die, a set of four wheels rolled along happily.


	36. We Are Not In Love

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: This is more or less what I was trying to say. It only took a year and 4 months to actually be written. I started again yesterday from the two paragraphs where I had been stuck. Oh, there's a poll on my FF dot net profile.

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"We're friends, just friends." The two repeated in identical bored tones.

Andromeda Tonks started for a moment, then her eyes narrowed and her gaze fell on the intertwined hands of the two self-proclaimed _friends_; both seated so closely together that Hermione may as well have been sitting in Harry's lap. Hermione was actually in the process of feeding Harry some of her dessert for him to taste. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Blowing hair out of her eyes, Hermione explained again quite wearily, "We're friends. Why can't anyone seem to understand that's what we are and nothing more?" A broken defeated quality tinged her voice."

"Yes, dear, I heard you the first time you both said it."

"But you don't believe us." Harry queried. "Do you?"

"It's bad form, I know, but allow me to answer a question with a question. Why couldn't you be more than friends?"

"_More_ than friends?" Hermione repeated as though the idea had never occurred to her.

"Yes, still friends but even more in addition to that."

"You mean lovers?" Harry asked in a defeated tone.

"Exactly that," Andromeda answered.

Infinite despair would have been an apt descriptor for how the two young people sounded. "That's the problem. We love each other, would die for each other, enjoy spending time together, lust after each other, can't imagine being separated, have no interest in other people, want to grow old together, but we aren't _IN LOVE_ with each other." Hermione's hands flew into her kinky hair; it was as if admitting such a thing was driving her mad.

Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione.

"Oh, well then there's just no… wait… _what_?"

"You heard us," Hermione answered, her hands coming down; one coming to rest on Harry's leg. "I wake up every morning with Harry's strong arms around me, my body pressed achingly against his rigid hardness and want nothing more than to make love like a randy teenager, which I am, but I don't because I know it wouldn't work." Hands became joined again.

"It's the same with me," Harry agreed, his posture slumping against the back of the couch. Hermione resting her head comfortingly against his shoulder, one hand splayed across his chest. "Waking up with her in my arms…" One hand came up to pull her body closer, if that was possible. "-is both my dream and my curse. I desperately want to do more than hold her close; I want to rip off her flimsy sleep clothes, and lavish each tender, pink part of her body with as much love and attention as her beautiful body can take. There I am, ready, willing and able-"

"-_VERY_ able-" Hermione interjected.

"-but it all seems so pointless because we're not in love with each other." His head dropped backward in defeat.

Harry's other hand was clenching Hermione's tightly as she patted him soothingly.

Andromeda narrowed her eyes at this startling revelation. She cleared her throat and then delicately asked, "So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you both love each other, spend all your time together, enjoy it by all indication, share a bed together, and are the best of friends…"she paused to look at both teens in turn.

They nodded their assent.

"But you aren't in love with each other?"

"Mmm hmm." Hermione agreed while starting to sniffle, an odd thing that Andromeda found incongruous with her image of Hermione. Naturally, Harry produced a handkerchief and dried Hermione's tears.

Something wasn't right. "Do you want to have sex with each other?" The much older witch asked with a straight face.

"Oh yes!" "Absolutely!" The two simultaneously agreed.

Deciding to attack this conundrum from another direction, she asked "Well, is there a lack of physical reaction… that is to say, there's attraction between you two?"

"Oh, no doubt," Hermione declared as she reached to outline Harry's impressive hardness beneath his robes. "See that? All my fault." There was a definite hint of pride in her tone. "If I'm not careful, Harry might have an accident… again."

Harry groaned in frustration; his breathing heavy, his voice a deeper, huskier tone, a wild, crazed look in his eye. He reached out a hand toward his _best friend_. "See how her legs instinctively part for me." His hand slipped underneath her hem." You can't tell from there, but she is so ready for me. Soft and warm and w…" he stopped to take a steadying breath. "Well, there's definitely attraction." He stated simply. Looking at Hermione, he asked, "Wouldn't you say?"

Hermione was making breathy little moans as Harry inadvertently teased her aching loins. "Uhhh… Harry…" was her eloquent reply.

"Yes, indeed." Andromeda declared, fanning herself briefly. "I would say definite attraction between the two of you." Her eyes narrowed again. "And there are no _problems_ visualizing actually engaging in a physical relation together, I take it?"

"No, ma'am!" They both said in a rush. "We think about each others' naughty bits often and in great depth."

"Hmm… and the both of you are living together?"

"Naturally, we find it difficult to imagine living apart."

"Would you ever stop living together?"

"No…" they said, but then they looked conflicted.

"I sense a '_but'_ coming." Andromeda prompted.

"Well," Hermione started.

"The thing is," Harry continued.

"We have had thoughts-" Hermione also continued.

"-of children." Harry finished.

Andromeda raised a brow. "Children beyond Teddy?"

"Well, with Teddy, we're both godparents. We really enjoy spending time with him when you're busy, but we aren't his primary caregivers." The young witch attempted to explain.

"We've both started to feel like we should be thinking of children of our own." Harry explained.

"You're living together, love each other and can't envision a future apart; I don't see what the problem is?"

"But, you see, we aren't _in love_ with each other. It would be wrong to have that kind of physical relationship, one that could result in a child, if we're not in love with each other." Hermione declared.

Harry nodded in agreement.

Andromeda's gloved palm met her wrinkled forehead and very nearly knocked off her spectacles.

"Mister Potter, does your body burn for Miss Granger?"

"With every fiber of my being."

"Miss Granger, does your body ache for Mister Potter?"

"To the depths of my very soul."

"And yet you would leave each other to search for other people 'to be in love with' so that you can have children with them instead of each other?"

Hermione was sniffling again and Harry looked gravely stoic. "Mmm hmm." Hermione agreed. "That's about the size of it." Harry corroborated. "We're sorry you had to find out about this in this way. We know you just stopped by for a pleasant chat, but we felt you should know before you heard about it from someone else. You're the first person we've discussed this with." Harry looked misty eyed as Hermione sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

"No medical reasons for this course of action?"

"No, we're both in perfect health."

Andromeda had a sinister suspicion. "By any chance are you considering the two youngest Weasley chits as partners?"

"Well, we both find them unappealing, but they've both confessed that they were in love with us…"

Hermione dried her tears. "We thought they might be a good place to start to see if Harry's in love with G-Ginny and if I'm in love with R-Ron." Hermione now looked ill.

"Try not to be too sickened, dear. I'm feeling queasy too, but this time I don't think my face betrayed the emotion. We're both slowly getting better at hiding our unease."

"Would you two mind if I cast a few diagnostic spells?"

"Be our guest." They readily agreed.

Moments later, Andromeda almost laughed. A confundus charm. Ridiculously over-powered, but a confundus charm nonetheless. Strong beyond belief it may be to hide such a glaringly obvious fact, but still a relatively easy counter spell. She applied it forthwith.

"I…I… I…" Harry said eloquently.

"Yes… I… umm… well..." Hermione responded equally as eloquently.

Smiling happily, Andromeda prompted. "Come now, Harry, Hermione. You just finished explaining to me how you loved each other, wanted to have really fantastic sex, fantasized about one another, slept in the same bed, lived in the same house, wanted to essentially grow old together and would happily have done all of that except you now wanted children and that wasn't proper because you weren't in love with each other. Surely you have something you want to tell each other now?"

Swallowing hard, Harry said. "I love you."

Hermione nodded slowly, a slightly shell-shocked expression gracing her pale, pretty face. "I know."

Shaking his head, Harry tried again. "I mean I am _IN LOVE_ with you!"

Nodding rapidly in agreement, Hermione returned, "Yes, I know!"

Harry was smiling now. "And are you _in love_ with me?"

Voice slightly erratic with suppressed emotion. "Oh yes, very much so, YES!"

Harry swept her up in his arms and there was much kissing involved. Andromeda smiled. She smiled and smiled and smiled… at least until a sock almost knocked her hat off. She excused herself but didn't stop smiling.

A jumper landed at Andromeda's feet as her hand came to rest on the door knob. She gracefully opened the door, stepped through to the other side and turned back again to call out, "I'll expect to hear about an upcoming wedding _very_ shortly. Oh, and do send word when you'd next like to have Teddy over. He enjoys your company so. We may wish to discuss the two of you assuming full guardianship in the near future. I'm not getting any younger, after all." She was extremely pleased with herself.

"Mmm hmm…" was the only response. Then, suddenly, the door was slammed shut and locked by powerful magic.

"Hmm… must talk to Hermione about talking with her mouth full - terribly unladylike, that. It would not do to have it become a habit.

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End Note: This was originally a bit spicier, but I toned things down a tad.

Omake:

"Try not to be too sickened, dear. I'm feeling queasy too, but this time I don't think my face betrayed the emotion. We're both slowly getting better at hiding our unease."

A glowing doorway opened into the room. That it glowed was odd certainly, but that it wasn't attached to a wall was even odder still. A goggled Luna Lovegood, slightly older but still easily recognizable, stepped through the portal.

"Oh, lovely." She declared, noting Harry and Hermione's closeness and lack of wedding rings. "I'm not too late in this universe." She waved her wand and a giant, glowing, translucent light switch appeared. With another flick of her wand, the switch was thrown, the color of the red switch turned green and then she turned with a jaunty hop and walked back through the doorway. Before it started to shrink closed, she winked at Andromeda.

Not seeing anything obviously change, Andromeda quickly noticed that both Harry and Hermione were breathing quite rapidly. "Are you two quite alright?"

Not bothering to answer, Hermione pounced on Harry. He was grinning right before Hermione mouth met with his, so their guest assumed he did not mind. The couch flipped in the process and they were both removed from view. Clothing began to be fly every which way and as a shapely set of legs were suddenly visible above the upturned couch, Andromeda noticed the door hadn't close all the way. There was still a small square of glowing whiteness floating in the middle of the room. It was in a perfect position to see everything she couldn't.

"I'm glad we were finally able to convince her of the truth."

Oddly loud footsteps could be heard coming from the portal. Another voice could be heard.

"You were all very insistent. It took some time and some distance, but after I re-read what I wrote, well I believe in Harmony now."

Portal Luna spoke again. "Do I really have to go to every alternate universe and change the ship variable?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Not at the moment, but did you notice you left the portal open?"

"What? Oh, crap!"

The portal closed fully and Andromeda took that as a sign from on high that things were back on track and that she should probably leave the longtime yet newly discovered couple to their own devices. She walked gracefully away.

"OH! Harry!"

Andromeda ran.


	37. What do I think of Hermione?

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: My muse has not been very cooperative lately. Here's a little something that I was able to slap together, I hope you at least find it amusing. Harmony ahead.

Special thanks to the good folks at See'vor's House of Fanfiction. Without their input, the story would be even worse, if you can believe it.

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"What do I think of Hermione? I can't believe you have to ask that. I mean, really, we've known each other since we were firsties. She's been with me through thick and thin…" _unlike some people_, he thought unkindly.

"So, you think of her like a sister, I reckon." The other one said hesitantly, almost as if he was trying to justify it to himself.

"Ron, you're delusional." Said Harry very slowly; it was a tone a mental patient would recognize coming from an orderly who was trying to help the patient with an '_episode'_.

"What?"

"You saw me the first time I saw her at the ball." He explained, a wistful expression on his face as he remembered the way she looked descending the stairs. She was like a vision out of a randy teens' daydream. "I knew instantly who she was and wow, how I stared…" The grin was still on his face. So caught up in his recollection was he that he inadvertently mumbled, "and the panties with my name on them were a nice touch too."

Ron's eyes suddenly opened much wider.

Harry continued after shaking his head briefly to clear the daydream. "Besides, how could I think of her as a sister? I'm an only child, after all, I don't have the slightest inkling what having a sister is like."

Ron's jaw was working but he couldn't seem to form words. Finally, he said, "Hadn't thought of that…"

Harry was now happily recalling the actual dance. He vaguely recalled Ron getting beyond angry with Hermione just because she gave her first dance to Krum, but then he stormed off and all Harry could remember were all the dances he and Hermione had shared afterward; then disappearing under his invisibility cloak only to reappear later in an empty classroom. He was mentally reliving the amazing experience of undoing the clasps of Hermione's gown when he realized Ron hadn't said a word in quite some time; a quiet Ron is an unsettled Ron – Harry regretfully returned his attention to the present before he got to the point in his memory where he discovered the emerald green knickers with _Reserved for Harry Potter_ embroidered in golden thread.

Ron's mouth was hanging open, his eyes were vacant but still very wide and an annoying whine of desperation or despair could only faintly be heard. None of these things _separately_ would have signaled any problem with Ron. If he was honest with himself, then he could even admit there was nothing too troubling about these things even if they happened concurrently. What was troubling was that none of these things were happening with Ron anywhere near food, or chess, or chess playing food. Harry decided he had better say something to get Ron responsive again.

"When put right to it, that's how I think of your relationship with Hermione." Harry paused to gauge Ron's reaction. He didn't have to wait long.

A horrified expression had appeared over Ron's bland, freckly features. His mouth closed and then opened with a silent 'WHAT!?' while his forehead was scrunched incredulously.

"Yeah-" Harry continued as if Ron hadn't just been struck with a mental thought grenade. "You're the one with a sister, after all. Plus, you're the one who likes to torment Hermione, calling her names, making fun of her interests and habits, AND you're the one who has repeatedly made her cry with your constant arguing over essentially nothing. Basically, the way you act with Hermione is the way you seem to act with Ginny – in other words you fight like brother and sister."

"B-Bu-but… I _thought _I was showing her I fancy her! My parents do it all the time, just like that! Isn't it normal? I thought I was showing her I wanted her to be my girlfriend. I _thought _that was how boys show they're interested!" Ron protested.

"Not that I'm aware of, but maybe things work differently for Wizards than for Muggles." Harry looked thoughtful. "In any case, that's not how they do it in Hermione's books on healthy relationships."

Ron's look of anguished disappointment vanished as his face seemed to radiate a feel of, 'I've got a great idea, the likes of which you would never expect me to have, because it's so brilliant!'

"Ron…" Harry cautioned. He thought he recognized that look. He'd seen it when Ron got him involved with the duel against Draco and when Ron thought he should try and hit Draco with a slug spewing curse.

"No, it's brilliant, Harry! And I have you to thank for it! Hermione's parents are Muggles, so of course she wouldn't know how we Magicals do things, would she? She doesn't know I've been chatting her up all this time and once I tell her, then she'll realize she fancies me too!"

Harry winced, but Ron didn't seem to notice, so caught up in his own little dream world was he. "Sorry, mate, but there's a flaw in your plan."

Ron jerked his head to look Harry square in the eye. "Flaw? Where!?" He demanded.

Harry cleared his throat and looked suspiciously uncomfortable. "Well… you see, the thing is…"

"Oh no," moaned Ron. "Don't tell me you beat me to the punch and she's now _your _girlfriend!"

"You've got it wrong, Ron." Harry said with hands raised in a placating fashion.

"Then what's the flaw?" Ron honestly wondered.

"She thinks you're a berk." There, he said it.

Ron blinked. "Huh?"

Harry held up a hand. "And that you're poxy." He continued while ticking off the various words Hermione had used to describe Ron of late using the aforementioned hand. "Also a git, a tosser, a twonk, a shite, a twat, a hobknocker, and an arse."

"But I was only having a little bit of a laugh with those sheep!" Ron argued.

"Really?" Harry asked amazedly. "After all of that, the part you object to is being called a _hobknocker_? And by the way – Ewww! That is definitely something about you I did NOT need to know."

Undeterred, Ron persisted. "Don't you see Harry? Even if she doesn't realize it, she must fancy me right back! Why else would she talk about me so much?"

"Maybe, because I was trying to convince Harry to not invite you to our wedding?" Hermione asked rhetorically from behind the aghast redhead.

"Harry, please tell me that's not Hermione standing behind me."

"I can't do that without lying to you, Ron."

"Bollocks." Ron said sulkily. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. Only since just before you admitted you were a hobknocker." She turned to Harry. "I believe I win the bet." She extended her hand and Harry pulled out his money sack and dropped it into her waiting hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, sucker." She said smugly to Harry.

Harry looked back at her and smirked. "And here I thought _you_ were the absolute authority on sucking…"

Hermione's face colored instantly. "No bedroom talk around the hobknocker, you know better than that."

Harry had the good graces to look slightly embarrassed.

"Hold on a minute you two," Ron said in a shaky voice. "I thought Harry said you weren't his girlfriend, so what's all this then?"

"I haven't been his girlfriend for months," Hermione explained, "I'm his fiancée now. Why else would we be talking about not inviting you to the wedding? Knowing you, you'd probably show up in Quidditch gear instead of dress robes."

Harry had to agree with his former girlfriend's assessment of his friend.

Ron's brain seized and he fainted.

"Think he'll remember this time or dismiss it as a dream again?" Hermione asked her fiancé.

"His track record is against him. What is it, the 3rd of 4th time he's repressed it?"

"Fourth." Hermione said after a moment. "Do we have to invite him to the wedding?"

"If he remembers, then yes. He's been really useful in drawing enemy spellfire over the years. We do owe him something."

"All right," Hermione conceded, "but only IF he remembers."

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End Notes: Please review. It really helps the creative process. Things you like, things you didn't, things you'd like to see happen, and anything else. It's all good. Thanks.


	38. Genre Savvy

Genre Savvy

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A glowing door, attached to nothing in particular, closed.

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Ron Weasley suddenly had a slight headache behind his left eye. This was followed by a certain unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. That, in turn was followed by a tickle in the back of his throat.

He wondered if he was coming down with the Wizard's Flu.

When every single student and most of the teachers seemed to be unwittingly intent on keeping him from getting Herms alone to ask her to accompany him to Hogsmeade, he wondered if he'd come down with a case of bad luck to rival his favorite team, the Chudley Cannons.

It was only after he learned that Hermione had, only moments before he finally caught her alone that, agreed to accompany Harry to Hogsmeade that he decided he must have been cursed.

A rapid trip to the Infirmary confirmed he was cursed with Anoverac Tivimagination. When he asked Mme. Pomfrey what she intended to do about it, an odd expression settled on her face and then she promptly disappeared into a cupboard labeled Dementor Supplies. A curious place to store anti-curse remedies it seemed to Ron. When she reappeared, she was carrying a small yellow paper bag. She poured from the bag extremely small pastilles, each one a different color of the rainbow. She counted out ten and gave them to Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, I haven't the foggiest how to treat your... _condition_, but then again I doubt anyone else in the world knows either. Take one of these whenever you feel yourself afflicted. If you take no more than two a day, then it should last you five days. Do try and rein yourself in during that time. Much of your problem could be corrected if you concentrate and discipline your mind."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey." He said respectfully as he accepted the multi-colored pastilles in a small white paper bag.

He left the infirmary.

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Stepping into the Common Room, he spied Harry and Hermione sitting very close together as they studied from a single text book.

_Too_ close in Ron's opinion. He walked over and leaned over the two seat davenport to get a better look at what they were studying. He didn't even want to think of the other name for a two seat davenport.

_Damn. It's a class I don't take!_ he thought annoyed. Hey Hermione, would you have time to help me with potions later?"

"I've already finished reviewing for potions with Harry. I don't think I'll have the time tonight if I want to finish my Arithmancy project. Sorry, Ron."

Harry chimed in. "I'll help you, Ron. Thanks to Hermione, I actually feel like I could teach this stuff. She's amazing and so thorough."

Ron couldn't help but focus in on the words 'amazing' and 'thorough'. _Hmm... my quill is all bent and broken_, he realized. _I wonder how that happened._ Ron wondered.

_My stomach feels odd. Better take a pastille._ Retrieving the paper bag he carefully extracted one pastille, a red one, and popped it in his mouth. A quick swallow later and though he couldn't be sure, he could feel the sweet relief spreading throughout his entire body. He smiled.

"Sorry about that, Harry. I was feeling a bit under the weather. Got some medicine from Madame Pomfrey, so I'm all good now."

"Oh, okay. Why don't you go have a lie down and I'll come get your when we're done here?"

"Excellent idea there, Mate." He walked jauntily toward the stairs.

_Excellent medicine. Didn't taste foul, and it works great! I don't know _what_ Madame Pomfrey was talking about. I do wonder why they're all labeled with E's, W's, and M's?_

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Harry looked at Hermione.

Hermione looked at Harry.

"Do you find it strange that Ron just swallowed an M&M and called it medicine?"

"Not really. I've long since learned to accept that odd things find their way into Ron's gaping maw. It _is_ a bit odd that he has a Muggle sweet, especially an American Muggle sweet, but I'm more curious whether he'll remember to brush and floss before his nap."

Hermione lay back against the semi-soft cushions. "Pinch me, Harry. I can't believe you asked me to be your girlfriend."

Harry stole a kiss. "I hope you can believe you said 'yes'. You have no idea how long I've been trying to find the right time and place to ask you to be my girlfriend. It's like today everything just fell into place.

Her lips still tingling, Hermione smiled. "Believe me, I have never agreed to anything more readily than when you asked me to be your girlfriend…" She paused for a moment as if recalling a long distant memory. "Well, this might tie with my parents asking me if I wanted a library card…"

"I can live with that."

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	39. One Way

There is a room in the department of mysteries. It's a very mysterious room. This room has no bearing to our story.

Instead, I want to tell you about a room that doesn't actually exist. So, I suppose it's not really a room, but it serves the purpose of a room. Wait, scratch that. It serves the purpose of an anteroom; a subset of rooms that leads to a room of purpose.

In this anteroom, that is not actually a room because a room must exist and this room does not, there is, figuratively, a large, comfy three person davenport and one or two wooden chairs of a French design. I say one or two because the number changes depending upon need. Sometimes there are no chairs and sometimes there is no davenport. Always there is a seat set aside since there is always a need for at least one person -figuratively speaking.

In this existentially challenged anteroom, there is a door made of something resembling oak. I would like to be more descriptive in my description of the door, but I know very little about types of wood. Suffice it to say, it's a nice door and like many nice doors, this nice door has a handle. The handle appears to be brass but metallurgy is also not a forte of mine. So these descriptions will have to do.

What is most important about the door is that it is the entrance to the anteroom. A room, even an anteroom, is not a room without an entrance. Strangely, the requirements of a room do not require there to be an exit. Even the requirement of a room having an entrance is not absolute; so long as, at some point, there WAS an entrance –in essence the entrance doesn't have to stick around.

At the entrance of the anteroom, hand clenched nervously upon the brass handle to the only door that leads to the anteroom, is one Ronald Bilius Weasley. He fancies himself a great wizard, funny, sharp as a tack, tall and suave, a wonderful catch for any witch to land, and quite possibly the most handsome thing to ever come out of the gaping thighs of Molly Weasley neé Prewitt.

I feel I must apologize for the previously mentioned descriptive sentence. It brings to mind horrible imagery that frankly turns this narrator's stomach. Upon further contemplation, the bit about Molly Weasley's thighs was probably also in bad taste. Sorry 'bout that. I'm so, so sorry.

Ron's hand is on the knob. Door knob, that is, and he is feeling quite apprehensive. Once he opens the door, and steps through the doorway into the anteroom, he only has one way out and that avenue of escape is only available during specific circumstances. He could end of being trapped in the anteroom and that could be good or bad. He'd like to believe that a third option exists, but he's fairly certain only one of two possible outcomes will actually occur.

Ron Weasley has had a particularly rough time of late, though he's not really sure why, and he's worried what harm and indignity may befall him if he enters the anteroom. But at the end of the day, he really has no choice but to enter and hope for the best. Screwing up his meager supply of courage, which seems smaller the older he gets, to the sticking place he turns the handle and steps through. To his pleasure and horror, there is someone else already in the room. It's Hermione.

Wary of the kinky-haired woman, laid out upon the three seat davenport as if it was her own, he regards her prone but lithe figure. She is wearing a man's white shirt, the sleeves rolled up high to show off a nice bit of muscle tone to her biceps, and the bottom of the shirt has been tied to make the larger shirt fit her snugly. Underneath the man's shirt, she is wearing some sort of stretchy material –a tube top, though Ron does not know the word for it. Her legs are covered in a blueish-whitish material that fit her every curve and make his roving eyes fix upon her shapely thighs. Trousers made of denim or jeans as non-magical people call them, but again Ron does not have a word for the enticingly tight piece of clothing that covers all but leaves very little to the imagination. He wants her. He wants her badly. He wants her but he's worried he won't ever have her. And then he notices she isn't actually lying upon the davenport reading a magazine.

Hermione, who hadn't yet noticed him, or at least hasn't appeared to have noticed him, is not lying atop the comfortable davenport, nor is she sitting. She is lying ABOVE the davenport and Ron can clearly see the cushions and the lower backrest of the couch that should by all rights be covered by her attractive and often unobtainable body.

Perhaps I should explain that last part. Despite what some people think they know about the fictional world, nothing exists between the pages; nothing real, anyway. Like the room that isn't a room because it doesn't exist, their lives which aren't lives because they don't exist either, don't continue if nothing is written about them. When the story is in progress or In Media Res as they say, the story IS life, the story IS real. When the story is done or not yet started, when they aren't on the clock, as it were, they simply don't exist in a meaningful way.

Try not to think too hard on that statement. There's a distinction here, but it's only as important as you try to make it.

Ron was vexed. The only time he'd gotten close to possessing those pert lips, perky breasts, and fine arse was when the creator first laid down the archetype. He wasn't sure why he was favored in such a way, because he KNEW he wasn't deserving and he'd been certain that his life would be finished every time the danger level grew. But each time he somehow escaped and the story had gone on.

In his heart of hearts, he knew he was mediocre at best, shallow, jealous, covetous, and rightly called a berk any number of times for any number of stupid things he had done. He was destined to be the bumbling sidekick and his greatest wish had been to survive the great story they'd literally been made for. But when the final word had been written, when the final page had been struck, there he was. To his astonishment, he was alive, happy, a little balder than he would have liked but he had made it. And most importantly, he had married Hermione… evidently.

That was the thing. Virtually nothing had been written about this whirlwind love between himself and Hermione Granger. He'd actually been gobsmacked when he realized what the creator had been writing. That, and very, very happy. Maybe if there had been more time spent on the relationship building or perhaps if they'd had more in common, then the romance and marriage that had only been alluded to and hinted at would have continued after the story finished. It hadn't… she'd kneed him in the groin as soon as the Epilogue concluded. The children, not characters but part of the story, had faded away into nothingness.

He'd been left alone as the Archetype world faded away and Hermione and Harry I-GET-EVERYTHING Potter age shifted and left for the anteroom to experience a new world -one that focused solely on them. There was no place for Hermione Jean and Ron Weasley in any world but the archetype. Even when he did find himself in a story with Hermione, it was inevitably Hermione Jane and she ONLY had eyes for Harry James.

And now he was alone in the anteroom with a floating Hermione. His first inkling was that he was in for another bollocking, but his little head could not ignore that shapely figure in front of him. Besides, it wasn't like she was floating THAT high above the davenport. A few inches at best, not even a foot off the cushions at her highest. He began to gain in confidence and the cocky, smarmy, shit-eating grin that Hermione absolutely detested but Ron thought she secretly adored found itself firmly established on his face.

"Shut the door, Ron!" called Hermione. "You're letting out the drama."

Ron was startled but the grin never wavered, instead, his forehead and eyebrows did the double raise thing that Hermione always likened to a poorly constructed Muppet being operated by an amateur.

"Herms, it's been a while since we worked together -not since the broom story by whatsisname?"

"One, wipe that horrid grin off your face; two, we worked together last in the story on the train where you were driven absolutely stark raving mad and I committed suicide."

"Funny, I don't remember that at all."

"I'd heard dementia can sometime result in memory loss. Nice to know reading those medical texts wasn't a waste of my time."

"Wait, what?

"Nothing, nevermind. Just pretend I didn't say a thing."

"You said something?"

"Hearing loss on top of that. Such a shame… I think."

Not one to dwell on his inability to keep up with Hermione, mentally, emotionally, or even physically (if the quidditch story is any indicator), he decided to do what had always served him so well when dealing with Hermione –he ignored what he didn't like or didn't understand enough to fake interest in.

"I notice Harry's not here? Off with my sister, I hope?" He asked with as much charm as he could muster.

The 'charm' such as it was made her feel, for lack of a better word, dirty. And not in a good way like the time she and Harry had been to Niagara Falls, but I-Want-A-Shower sort of dirty. "I very much doubt Harry is with Ginevra -HAH!" she laughed abruptly as she finished giving her unasked for opinion. She almost dropped her copy of the Quibbler.

Standing closer, he could now tell that's what she had been reading so intently. "The Quibbler - PEST CONTROL Edition: Weasels and Ferrets and how to be rid of them for good." The back said, "The RED DEATH: Fact, Fiction, or Fraud. You Be the Judge."

He wasn't sure why, but reading those words made him feel as if a duck had walked across his grave -or something like that. It was possible he was mixing his metaphors, but then again he was never really sure what a metaphor was and the one time he had asked Hermione to explain it, her explanation had left him with a splitting headache.

Opting for something a little more cheery, he tried to strike up a conversation. "So, it's just the two of us… I wonder who's calling the shots this time?" Confident in his winning formula: obvious statement, innocent question, he waited for Hermione's usual, overly wordy reply.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Ron." She closed her Quibbler and then her whole body shook while a silly, but strangely alluring smile took to her face. It looked as if she was holding in a laugh. Then her shoulders stilled as she stopped shaking and a deep breath was followed by a slow sensual exhale.

He thought it was patently unfair that she should look sexy and standoffish at the same time. And then there was her smile; that happy, all-is-right-with-the-world smile that she never seemed to direct towards him. Often, it was Harry that elicited that smile; sometimes, it was her parents; and on occasion, her children got the smile too. A frown had settled on Ron's face as he thought, 'those kids were always Harry and Hermione's kids...'

"You really don't know who the author is this time, do you?"

"Not a clue. It's not like there's a book out there with a title page listing who it is that's going to make my life miserable this time."

Hermione very slowly tucked the Quibbler special edition away. The guest column was contributed by someone whom she was usually quite fond of. Plus, he favored her in his writing, so she couldn't help but be a little flattered; though, his run-on sentences and sentence fragments occasionally made her want to pull out a quill with red ink. He tried and that certainly counted for something.

"There may not be a title page, but you can surmise a few things, I think."

Genuinely puzzled, the redhead asked, "a few things such as like what?"

"Well, we're post Hogwarts age, the number of chairs, those slices of American style pumpkin pie on the table just there, and the big banner in the center of the room that proudly proclaims 'Harmony: It's not just a good idea, it's a way of life' in my mind narrows down the possible candidates nicely."

Quickly glancing around at each of the items she'd mentioned but that he had overlooked completely, he struggled for an explanation for his lapse. "Huh… well, I…"

"Oh, come on, Ron. How could you miss all of that? You'd have to have been staring straight at the center of the room to miss… all… of that… this davenport is in the center of the room. Were you staring at me, Ronald Bilius Weasley?"

His nonexistent heart felt like it had stopped in his nonexistent chest. This was starting to go South. He figured it was right about near Cornwall. If it continued, it might reach Spain, Egypt, or -Merlin help him- Cape Town. Then the baser parts of Ron, which happened to have a direct line to his brain whispered, "Don't give up. There's a couch big enough for two, just the two of us and wouldn't it be Wizard if this was a setup for a Ron Bilius and Hermione Jean story?"

His mouth opened and he drooled a bit at the truly lecherous thoughts that prompt had suggested. So it's natural that he completely missed Hermione's weary shake of her head as she could guess what was going through his mind. She hopped to her feet and left the quibbler by the slices of pumpkin pie and cold milk. She walked to across the room to the portal and cleared her throat. "Oh, Ron! I need you, come here!"

Woken as if from a dream, he turned to look toward the portal and the awful grin returned. She looked even sexier standing up in that outfit. "Coming, Herms!" He practically raced toward the portal. Advancing on her like a wolf advancing on some sheep, it suddenly occurred to him to ask, "Just curious, Herms, what's your middle name this time?"

Looking at him, a look not unlike pity on her face, she answered, "Jane, Ron. It will always be Jane."

He deflated like a stuck balloon.

Suddenly, he was flying through the portal as if someone had shoved his backside from behind.

The all-is-right-with-world smile on her face once more, Hermione walked over to a suspiciously empty section of air and pulled the top of the invisibility cloak off. She wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and kissed him deliberately and thoroughly, showing clearly how excellent she could be at something when she truly put her mind to it. She felt his hands go around her and after a time she just snuggled into him.

She was happy. She'd found him and he'd found her. They were together and despite not really existing, it wasn't a bad non-existence. There were worse fates and worse imaginations to be figments of.

They both had a feeling that something had changed in the anteroom; they looked up and saw another addition to the banner. "The Hero should always get the girl", this was followed by the words, "And vice-versa." And then in small letters that Harry had to squint at but Hermione could read as plain as day, "Harry isn't much good without Hermione – and vice-versa."

Nodding in agreement, the two sat and enjoyed their pumpkin pie and ice cold milk; feeding little bites to one another and generally acting like newlyweds. When they were finished, they noticed a small box on the table with Hermione's name on it. Opening the box, she found alligator clips and another note. "For use on 'The Red Death'. Harmony Forever. Sincerely, DeeDee."

Harry looked at Hermione and Hermione looked at Harry. A beat passed and she pocketed the note and held the clips tight. "Guess it's time to move onto the story."

"See you on the other side."

"Wouldn't miss it."

They walked into the portal hand in hand.


End file.
